A Door Ajar
by Beautiful T Jakson
Summary: "Fine! You want to leave so bad! Go! And don't come back! Stay with your freak friends, 'cause you're no longer welcome in this house!" Little did Vernon Dursley know the impact these words would have upon Harry Potter and his friends. When the only semblance of a family the Boy-Who-Lived has kicks him to the curb, Harry has to find his own way. And boy, does he.
1. Chapter 1

Obligatory disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated creative properties belong to Scholastic Publishing Company and J.K. Rowling. I don't claim any said property as my own, and I make no monetary profit from this fan-made story. All creative property not associated with Scholastic Publishing Company and J.K. Rowling belong to me, and their use is limited to my express permission. Thank you.

Okay, so this story stemmed from a little thought that occurred to me: What if, after witnessing his nephew not only ruin his great business deal but then escape from his punishment and humiliate him in the process, Vernon Dursley was so sick of Harry Potter that he simply refused to even let him back in the house? Well, I explore this.

Read on!

* * *

_August, 1992_

_Little Whinging, Surrey_

On a certain summer day in Little Whinging, Surrey, a certain boy was the subject of a struggle. On one side of the struggle was a certain trio of redheads, and on the other side was a certain fat slab of a man who called himself the certain boy's uncle (at least for a short time longer).

Harry Potter's life had never been particularly normal. He'd grown up the subject of nothing but scorn from pretty much every human he'd come into contact with, and on his eleventh birthday he'd been informed that he was a wizard. Following one of the strangest educational years of his very short existence, he'd gone back to the mundane world of Little Whinging, where he was once again treated with scorn, at least until an incident involving floating pudding, a small elfin creature, and a woman who had very recently developed ornithophobia. Following this, he was treated with downright contempt.

Which brought him to his present struggle. Harry Potter was now the rope in a tug of war between his Uncle Vernon (the principal supplier of the contempt towards him) and the Weasley brothers, Ron, Fred, and George; all of this was part of a rather poorly planned escape attempt on the part of the latter three.

"Let me go!" Harry shouted at his Uncle Vernon, whose enormous meaty hand was clamped around his nephew's ankle. "Get off!"

At this point, his uncle finally seemed to realize something.

"Fine!" he shouted. "You want to leave so bad! Go! And don't come back! Stay with your freak friends, 'cause you're no longer welcome in this house!"

With that, he released his nephew's ankle, laughing maniacally at the sky as the light blue Ford flew into the night.

…

"Vernon, why would you let him leave?" Petunia asked, and Vernon turned back to his wife, his manic grin still in place.

"Don't you see, Petunia?" he whispered. "He's _gone_! Away, and we're well shot of him! Haven't we always said life would be so much more peaceful without him? Well, now it _can be_. Clear out his room, clear out his cupboard, chuck it all in the car, and I'll be off to the dump tomorrow. He doesn't want to be here? Fine. He's no longer _welcome_ here."

Little did Vernon Dursley know that this single statement would have far-reaching consequences….

…

_June, 1993_

_Platform 9 ¾ _

"Bye, Harry!" Ron said. "Don't let the Dursleys keep you down!"

"I'll see you later, Ron!" Harry said, waving at the massive Weasley family as they left the station. The twins stopped at the door, turning to Harry.

"If we don't hear from you in a week, Potter – "

" – expect another car ride."

"Fred and George Weasley, if you lay a hand on that car – "

"Just kidding, Mum," they said in unison, though as soon as Mrs. Weasley turned away, they shot Harry identical winks.

"So," Hermione said, as the Weasleys exited, "your family's running a bit late this year, aren't they?"

"Yeah," Harry said, looking toward the entrance. "I guess they had something important to do and figured I could wait. What about you?"

"I called Mum and Dad," Hermione said. "They had an emergency surgery, so they'll be a bit late."

"Well, then I'm glad to have some company," Harry said, and Hermione smiled at him, moving to sit on a nearby bench. She patted the spot next to her, and Harry sat, sighing.

"Two years down," he said, staring at the ceiling of the station, and Hermione nodded.

"Five to go," she added. "Any idea what you want to do when you graduate?"

Harry shook his head with a chuckle. "I don't even know what wizards _do_ when they finish Hogwarts. I'm just hoping I graduate."

"Oh, you'll graduate just fine," Hermione said with confidence. "You're a great wizard."

Harry blushed under her praise. "I'm not near as smart as you, though."

Hermione also pinked a little. "Well, I have a natural curiosity. That's what my parents always say, anyway. _You_ have a natural trouble streak. You'll probably make a fine auror."

"Auror?"

"Like a magic special forces," Hermione explained. "There's the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; that's like the muggle police. Then there's aurors, who usually go after dark wizards."

"Could've use a couple of those this year," Harry said with a wry smile, and Hermione nodded.

"Probably," she said. "I guess they figured they wouldn't need them, since they had Hagrid locked up."

"Well, I don't know if I want to work for the ministry, then," Harry said. "They don't seem to be the smartest people."

Hermione laughed. "Maybe you'll go in there and revolutionize the way they work. Who knows, maybe you'll be Minister for Magic," she laughed.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right."

Hermione bumped him with her shoulder. "Well, you've got five years to figure it out."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, Harry scratching Hedwig on the head between the bars of her cage. Passerby stared at the strange pair with the white owl, but bore them to mind; King's Cross was a place of coming and going, not stopping and staring.

"Oh," Hermione said after nearly a quarter hour of waiting. "There's Mum and Dad." She waved at a couple that had just entered the station. The woman, Hermione's mum, waved back enthusiastically and ran for her daughter, her father following at a trot.

"Hey, sweetie!" Mrs. Granger said, and Hermione stood and ran for her mother, who enveloped her in a hug. Harry smiled as he watched them, his grin growing when he saw the look of joy on Hermione's face as she hugged her mother.

Mrs. Granger was rather petite, only about a head taller than Hermione, and she shared her daughter's unruly brown mane of hair. Her eyes, though, were hazel. Mr. Granger had straight black hair (a gene that had clearly skipped Hermione) and bright brown eyes, just like his daughter's. He was a tall, lean man, and Harry guessed that he did a lot of swimming.

Hermione broke away from her mum and ran to hug her father, who ruffled her hair as she pulled away. "Hello, kiddo. Have a good school year?"

"Yes," Hermione said with a smile, smoothly glossing over the murderous snake and two months spent petrified in the hospital wing. "Mum, Dad, this is Harry Potter, from school. Harry, my parents, Dan and Emma Granger."

"Ah, _you're_ Harry Potter," Emma said, smiling and pulling Harry into a hug as well and smiling down at him. "I want to thank you for being a good friend to my daughter. You and that boy Ron were all she could talk about last summer, I daresay."

Dan stepped forward, extending a hand, and Harry shook it; as he suspected, Hermione's father had a very firm grip. "Harry Potter. It's a pleasure."

"Pleasure to meet you both," Harry said.

"Mum, Harry's family hasn't come to pick him up yet," Hermione said. "Can we give him a lift home? He just lives over in Surrey."

Dan and Emma shared a look as Harry turned to Hermione. "It's alright; you don't have to trouble yourselves over me. I'm sure Uncle Vernon'll be along soon. In fact, if I could borrow some change, I could give them a call."

Minutes later, Harry was leaning against the side of a phone booth near the entrance to King's Cross while the Grangers waited patiently outside.

_Ring…ring…ring…ri-click_. "Hello?"

Harry hesitated before speaking; the voice was unfamiliar. "Um…is Vernon home?"

"Vernon…oh, you mean the Dursleys?"

"Yes," Harry replied, confused. Who was this guy?

"The Dursleys no longer live here," the man said. "They moved out months ago."

"What?" Harry asked, shocked. "Wait, they _moved_?"

"Yes," the man said kindly, laughing indulgently. "Apparently, he made regional manager at that drill company of his and moved up."

"This…this is number four Privet Drive, right?"

"Yes, it is," the man said, sounding slightly concerned now. "Were you a family friend?"

"In a manner of speaking," Harry said, disbelieving. Was this some sort of joke? He was half-expecting Dudley to jump on the phone and yell "April fool!". Though, for the first time since he'd heard them last summer, Uncle Vernon's words rang in his head: _Stay with your freak friends, 'cause you're no longer welcome in this house!_

Perhaps Vernon had decided to separate himself completely from his nephew….

"Are you still there?" the man asked, and Harry snapped back to the present.

"Yeah, sorry," he said. "Um, did they leave an address where they could be reached?"

"Sorry, lad, they didn't," the man said apologetically. Harry nodded.

"Right," Harry said. "Thanks. Sorry for the bother."

"Not at all," the man said.

"Goodbye."

"Bye."

Harry hung up the phone, sighing and leaning against the side of the booth. He could perhaps go to Little Whinging and see if this _was_ all some sort of cruel joke, but something about the whole scenario told him he'd be wasting his time.

There was a tap on the glass, and Harry jumped, standing and seeing Hermione on the other side with a worried look. Sliding the door open, he exited and gave her a smile.

"They moved."

"What?" Hermione asked, uncomprehending. Harry gave a brief explanation of his phone conversation with the man, and Hermione's expression changed from confusion to shock, then to anger.

"They just _left_ you?" she asked, and Harry shrugged.

"Unless it's a joke," he said. "But I don't think the Dursleys would ever go to so much trouble even to make a fool of me."

"But…but…how could they just _do_ that?" Hermione asked, shaking her head. "You're their responsibility! They can't just…ditch you because they got tired of you."

"Well, I was sort of forced on them," Harry said with a shrug, and Hermione gaped at him.

"You're defending them?"

"Well, honestly, Hermione, I can't say I'm too torn up that I'll never see them again," Harry said. "They weren't the nicest sort of people. My biggest concern right now is finding a place to stay."

"Begging your pardon," Dan interrupted. "I couldn't help but overhear. Would you like to stay with us, Harry? At least until we can get all this sorted out?"

Hermione beamed at her father, then at Harry, who looked between the two. "I wouldn't want to impose…."

"It's no imposition," Dan insisted. "We have a spare bedroom from when Hermione's aunt Lucille used to visit. We've just managed to get the last of her perfume scent scrubbed out."

Harry laughed, and Hermione smiled at him, moving to grab her trolley as he did the same with his own.

…

"Today's the day we were supposed to pick up the boy," Petunia said as she cooked dinner. Vernon grunted, making his way across the kitchen to the second fridge (Dudley was currently emptying the first straight into his mouth) to grab a beer. "I wonder if he's still waiting at the station."

"Probably," Vernon said with a laugh. "Probably sitting out front like a little lost puppy. Runt deserves it for causing me no end of grief."

"And we're really finished with him?" Petunia asked, peeling another potato. Vernon nodded emphatically.

"If I see that boy on my deathbed, it'll be too soon," he said. Meanwhile, a massive belch came from the fridge, where Dudley shut the door, a hunk of chocolate cake still in his mouth as he sauntered back to his room, where Vernon and Petunia had had a fifty-inch screen television put in for him to watch (he was still trying to convince them that he needed his own fridge right in his room). Vernon chuckled as he popped the tab on his beer.

"Someone's going to have a stomachache later on," he said, taking a swig and moving back to the living room, leaving Petunia staring out her kitchen window. It looked like the neighbors' daughter had a male visitor in the hot tub, and they were clearly enjoying a private moment. Engrossed in what had the potential to become a juicy bit of gossip, all thoughts of her sister's only child left her as she watched for anything "indecent".

…

"Harry?"

Harry looked away from the television to Hermione, who was standing at his door, already in her pajamas.

"Hey," he said, gesturing at the TV. "TV in the guest bedroom. Pretty ritzy."

Hermione giggled, climbing onto his bed and kneeling near his feet. "Aunt Lucille couldn't stand to be without _Drop the Dead Donkey_. Dad hates the show, so he got Auntie her own TV for when she visits. What are you watching?" she asked, glancing at the screen.

"_Whose Line is it Anyway?_. It's actually really funny, but I don't get many of the jokes."

"I expect you have to know a lot about pop culture to get it," Hermione said. "That's not very good for those of us who spend months on end in a secluded castle in northern Scotland."

Harry chuckled, and Hermione laughed as well, shifting so that she was sitting cross-legged and looking at him. Harry smiled at her.

"You're parents are awesome, by the way," Harry said, and Hermione nodded.

"I could've told you that," she said with a laugh. "They just love helping people. That's why they're dentists, so they can make sure people keep their teeth in good shape and live comfortably."

"And your mum's cooking could give Mrs. Weasley a run for her money," Harry said, patting his still full stomach, which was bursting with third helpings of Mrs. Granger's turkey meatloaf, and Hermione giggled then fell silent.

"It's strange, having you _here_," she said, and Harry nodded. "I mean, for me, the magic world and muggle world were always separate. My parents visited Diagon Alley with me once, but that was about it. Now, I've got my best friend from Hogwarts staying in my guestroom."

Harry laughed. "At least I grew up muggle, so I know how things work. Imagine if _Ron_ was the one staying here."

"He wouldn't have a clue what to do," Hermione said with a giggle. "He'd probably start talking to the television thinking it was a portrait."

They fell silent again, staring at the actors on the television screen. Occasionally they would chuckle at a joke they understood, or burst out laughing at a particularly funny moment.

"So…" Hermione said as a commercial began, "do you think you'll be staying here a while?"

"Getting sick of me already?" Harry asked jokingly, and Hermione rolled her eyes at him, poking his stomach, and he recoiled with a chuckle.

"Of course not," she said. "But it's always good to a have a plan. Playing it by ear has never really gotten us anywhere good."

"True," Harry agreed. "Your parents said they'd be at the office all day tomorrow; I was planning on taking a bus to Privet Drive just to make sure this isn't all some kind of joke."

"I'll go with you, then," Hermione said, and Harry shook his head.

"No way," he said, and Hermione gave him a hurt look. "Look, I'd like you to come along, but if my family _is_ still at Privet Drive, I'd rather you not have to meet them. They're not exactly the nicest people."

"Harry, I'm not leaving you to deal with those horrid people yourself," Hermione said. "Besides, even if it is a joke and they're still there, you're still coming back with me, and I'll have my dad call the police. No matter how you look at it, this is child abuse."

Harry sighed. "All right, but consider yourself warned."

Hermione shook her head. "When will you realize that I'm not leaving you, no matter what?"

He smiled at her, and Hermione crawled from his bed, smiling back. "Well, I'm going to bed."

"I thought you said you weren't leaving me," Harry said jokingly, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Would you rather we share a bed tonight?" she asked, giggling as Harry's face reddened. "Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight," Harry said his face still warm, and Hermione left, closing the door behind her with a snap. Harry looked back at the television, though now that he was alone, he couldn't seem to stop thinking about the Dursleys' apparent abandonment of him, the fact that he was now a guest of Hermione Granger, and what this meant for a future that now seemed Dursley-free.

Shaking his head, he reached for the remote and switched the TV off, followed closely by his beside light, and settled into his covers.

There would be plenty of time to think tomorrow.

* * *

Hopefully, I'll be able to stick with this one, as the plot flows more easily than a couple of my other ones.

Review, if you please.


	2. Chapter 2

Hola! Como esta! Por que something something read my story because I don't know Spanish.

* * *

_June 22, 1993_

_8:02 a.m._

_Newtown, Reading; England_

Once again, Harry found himself waking and wishing the previous night hadn't all been a dream, that he really was Dursley free and going to be staying with Hermione now.

"Time to get up, lazy-buuuum!" Hermione sang, and Harry heard her running into his bedroom then felt a very sudden presence on his mattress, which sent him bouncing about a foot from his bed

Yeah, it had definitely happened.

"Good morning, Hermione," Harry said, his voice muffled by his pillow.

"Good morning," Hermione said, and Harry could hear the smile in her voice. He rolled onto his back and saw her kneeling next to him, smiling down at him. She was already dressed, wearing a denim skirt and a pink tank-top. "Dress cool; it's really humid out today."

"Okay," Harry said, and Hermione shifted to climb from his bed. Half-skipping from his room, she turned back to him in the doorway.

"Breakfast is in ten minutes, so don't dilly-dally," she said in that same singsong voice, exiting. Harry climbed from his bed, wondering if Hermione was always this boisterous during the summer, and moved to where his trunk remained unpacked in the corner. He hadn't had the time or the heart to actually remove all of his things from the trunk and fill the empty chest of drawers on which the television rested; he'd thought it would feel too much like moving in. Now, though, with Hermione's words from last night still fresh on his mind, it seemed he was a permanent houseguest, whatever the results of their trip to Privet Drive today.

Cinching the belt on his trousers (magically shrunk by Mrs. Weasley last summer to fit him more snugly), he eyed the trunk and then the dresser.

_Meh, I'll do it later_, he told himself, waving an airy hand at the trunk and moving past Hedwig's cage to the door. As he exited, he found himself almost walking into Hermione.

"Oh!" she gasped, stopping short right in front of him. "Sorry, Harry."

"S'alright," Harry said with a smile, and Hermione stepped aside, falling into step next to him as they made their way downstairs.

"Um, Mum offered to drive us to Privet Drive today," Hermione said. "Well, actually, she kind of…_told_ me she'd be driving us."

"She doesn't have to – "

"I think you'll find she does," Hermione said with a giggle. "She's grown rather fond of you and doesn't want you going all the way to Surrey by yourself."

They entered the kitchen to find Mrs. Granger setting plates of eggs and bacon on the table. She looked up when she spotted them and smiled.

"Good morning, Harry," she greeted him. "Orange juice?"

"Please," Harry said, making his way to his seat. Hermione sat across from him and looked over his shoulder at her mother.

"I was just telling Harry that you offered to drive us to Privet Drive," she said as Mrs. Granger walked over, setting a glass of orange juice in front of Harry and smiling at him.

"And I won't take 'no' for an answer, either," she said sternly, though not unkindly. "Hermione's told me you have a bit of an independent streak, but you'll have to get used to accepting help from Dan and I."

Harry nodded meekly, and Mrs. Granger chuckled, tousling his hair as she walked away. "By the way, Hermione, we need to go swimsuit shopping after we're done at Privet Drive."

"I know, Mum," Hermione said with a smile. She turned to Harry. "Do you have swim trunks, by the way?"

Harry shook his head. "I've never even been swimming."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Well, that's going to change this summer," she said with a smile. "Have you ever wanted to go to France?"

…

If Harry had wished for something to take his mind off the impending trip to the Dursleys' (potentially former) residence, he had it now. Even as the Grangers' dark green Passat sped toward Surrey, all he could think about was how fantastic France would be. Hermione was only helping as she waxed on about all she had read about France (verbatim from the books at more than one point), filling Harry's head with imaginings of the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, and other such attractions.

"Oh, and the Avenue des Champs-Élysées," she said dreamily, pronouncing it in perfect French. "Harry, it's supposed to be absolutely beautiful, with shops and cafés and cinemas and theatres…."

"And I can come along?" Harry asked, and Hermione nodded at him, looking confused.

"Of course you are," she said with a smile. "You think we're just leaving you at home? Dad'll just have to adjust our hotel reservations to fit four. He's already arranged for a ticket for you on the train."

"I can pay you back," Harry said to Mrs. Granger, wondering if Gringotts would be able to convert his galleons, sickles, and knuts to pounds and pence. She only smiled.

"Don't worry about it, Harry," she said. "We've been saving for this trip for some time now. All you have to do is make sure Hermione doesn't get bored when Dan and I hit the bar at night."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Muuum, if you come staggering back to the room drunk, I'm _not_ claiming you as my parents."

Mrs. Granger laughed. "Hermione, you know that your father and I don't get_ drunk_. We've had a bit too much to drink before, but we've never gotten _drunk_. Besides, if we do, Harry will claim us, won't you?"

She smiled at Harry, who nodded back. Hermione gave him a playful shove. "Traitor," she said with a smile, and Mrs. Granger laughed again.

…

"Harry? We're here."

"I know."

"…Do you want me to go with you?"

Harry shook his head, still staring out the rolled down window at the house. Already, he could sense a difference. For one, Uncle Vernon's pristine company car wasn't out in the driveway for all the neighbors to envy, yet there was definitely activity in the house. There was also a soccer ball in the front yard; the notion of Dudley "Killer Whale" Dursley playing any sport that involved running was almost laughable.

"Oh," Emma said as she spotted someone exiting the front door. "Is that…your aunt?"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head as the woman made her way to the garage, reaching into her purse and unearthing an automatic door opener. "She's definitely not Aunt Petunia."

"Then they really did leave," Hermione said, placing a hand on Harry's arm. "Harry, I…."

"It's okay," Harry said, turning to smile at her. "I'm actually sort of relieved. I think we'll both be happier without each other."

Hermione smiled and gave his arm a squeeze before turning to her mum. "Shopping, then?"

Mrs. Granger nodded. "We better, or that woman's going to think we're stalking her."

Hermione laughed, and even Harry chuckled as Mrs. Granger started the car and took off toward London (in the opposite direction of the woman from Number Four, which was probably a relief to her).

As they drove, Mrs. Granger fiddled with the radio until she found a song she liked while Harry stared out the window at the buildings as they whizzed by. After a moment, he felt a gentle touch on his elbow and turned to see Hermione smiling at him.

"Are you okay?" she asked, and Harry nodded.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Just…need to sort it all out."

Hermione nodded in understanding. "If you need to talk…."

"You'll be the first," Harry said, and Hermione smiled, letting her fingertips trail down his arm before she turned sharply to the front of the car.

"Mum, just please pick a station!" she said, and Harry chuckled as he went back to staring out the window. He didn't know why he was so down about all this. Part of him was actually relieved, even happy, to know that he would never have to endure the company of the Dursleys ever again. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd been abandoned by the only family he had left. Granted, they weren't the best sort of people, but it still wasn't a good feeling.

"Harry," Mrs. Granger said, and he looked up to see her looking at him in the rearview mirror. "You'll always be welcome in our home, understand?"

Harry nodded, smiling at her. "Yes."

Well, he supposed, he could always just find a _new_ family.

…

"Welcome to Gringotts," the greeter goblin croaked as the trio entered the bank, and Mrs. Granger looked around in wonder; apparently, she'd been in here once before, but the sight still threw her. "Muggles will please remain with your wizard escort. Thank you."

Mrs. Granger immediately grabbed a hold of Harry's arm, and Hermione laughed when she saw this.

"Mum, they're not going to attack you just for getting separated from us," she said. "They just don't want you running off to the vaults alone."

"I'm not taking any chances," Mrs. Granger said flatly, and Hermione rolled her eyes as they approached the counter.

"Hello," Harry said to the goblin, who eyed him curiously. "Um, I'm Harry Potter," he said, "and I need to take some money out of my vault, vault 687, and have it converted to muggle money—er, make some of that French money, too, if you can."

"Key, please," was all the goblin said, holding out a long-fingered hand, and Harry reached into his pocket and drew out the key he'd made sure to bring along. "This way."

"You ever been down the vaults, Mrs. Granger?" Harry asked as they walked along, and Mrs. Granger shook her head. "Do you get motion-sick easy?"

"Not really, why?" Mrs. Granger asked. Harry smiled.

"No reason."

…

"Never…ever…ever again," Hermione said, climbing shakily from the cart and leaning against a nearby rock wall. Mrs. Granger emerged more gracefully, though her wide eyes betrayed her shock at the cart ride. Harry moved smoothly from the cart to the door and watched as the goblin (possibly Griphook, who had helped Harry once before, though he couldn't be sure) took his key and unlocked the vault, sliding the door open.

His jaw dropped.

"Whoah…" Mrs. Granger gasped.

"Oh, my…" Hermione sighed.

Harry had of course anticipated their reactions to his large sum of money (it really was a lot); what he _hadn't_ quite anticipated was the large sum of money multiplying to the point that it faded out of sight and suddenly including shelves upon shelves of books, seemingly ancient artifacts of certainly Arthurian origin, cases of jewelry, and even large ornate wooden cabinets of papers.

"Wha…how?" he turned to the goblin. "Where did all of this come from?"

"Your inheritance," the goblin said, looking up at him. "Our records indicated that you legally established yourself as an adult on six August, 1992, thus entitling you to your full inheritance, as per your mother and father's final will and testament. Is that wrong?"

"I…dunno," Harry said. He never knew his parents had left a will. Although, now he thought about it, six August was the day he'd escaped from the Burrow with Ron, Fred, and George. The day Uncle Vernon had told him he was no longer welcome in the Durselys' home. Perhaps that had somehow made him an adult as well. "I…guess it's right."

The goblin nodded. "Very well. If you would like, we can present you with an itemized list of your inheritance. The parchment is enchanted to include a scrollbar, as an actual list would be several yards long."

Harry nodded. "I'd like that," he said, entering the vault. He turned back to Hermione and Mrs. Granger. "Is…is it alright if I look around a little? This…used to belong to my parents."

"No, go ahead," Hermione said, casting not-so-covert glances at the bookshelves undoubtedly stacked with tomes she had never even heard of. Harry smiled at her.

"You can have a look as well, if you want," he said, and Hermione eagerly grabbed her mother's arm and took off for the shelves. Harry moved for the cabinet with the papers, wondering what was important enough for his mum and dad to keep. He drew out one paper and glanced at it.

_By Decree of the Italian Magical Government:_

_This document entitles the bearer, __Harry James Potter__1__ to the property, __Villa del Giglio__2__ and all buildings, items, plants, etc in the surrounding five (5) hectares of land until such time the bearer is unable or unwilling to keep the property, at which time it will be returned to the state or passed to a designated beneficiary._

_Signed,_

_Davide T. Meneghine_

_Italian Minister for Magic (1884 – 1889)_

_Isaac Trentius Potter_

_Purchaser_

_1__name has been changed to reflect current owner_

_2__propery name changed 14 August, 1977, by James Charlus Potter, acting owner_

"Hermione!"

Hermione ran over, and smiled bemusedly when she saw the big grin on Harry's face. "What? What's that?"

"A deed," Harry said, barely containing his excitement. "I own an Italian villa!"

"What?" Hermione asked, moving to read over his shoulder. "Oh, my goodness…. Five hectares of land."

"Is that big?" Harry asked, and Hermione's eyes widened.

"Harry, that's massive! You could build your own quidditch pitch a few times over on five hectares."

"Wow…" Harry smiled at the possibilities. If this was just one property on one piece of paper, he had a veritable filing cabinet of places. Turning back to the drawer, he thrust the paper back in and drew out another, perusing the page. "This one's in France! The Chateau d'Lis. Wow, this one's twenty hectares."

"That must be a castle," Hermione said in an awed voice.

Harry turned to the goblin. "How many properties do I own now?"

"In the United Kingdom, you own twelve separate properties, with thirty more across Europe. They are all included in the list we will provide you."

"Brilliant," Harry said, stuffing the France property back into the drawer. Hermione turned to the goblin.

"Um…excuse me," she said, and the goblin turned to her. "Aren't there a lot of upkeep costs and taxes and things on these properties?"

The goblin eyed her appraisingly. "I'm not permitted to discuss Mr. Potter's finances with non-relatives."

"Oh, it's alright," Harry said, now eyeing a large suit of armor that put any of Hogwarts's to shame. "She's my best friend; you can discuss it with her."

The goblin gave him a nod before turning back to Hermione. "There are some costs, but the Potter family has team of finance goblins that handle it all for them. I believe the sheer amount of interest their account generates, as well as substantial investments in many worldwide businesses both magical and muggle, ensure that they break even in terms of yearly costs and revenues."

"I see," was all Hermione said, glancing over at Harry, who was now collecting some coins in his bag, deep in thought. He owned forty-two houses! Huge houses! Who needed the Dursleys? He could just move into one of his castles!

_But what about Hermione?_ part of him argued. He was rather growing to like the Granger family. Maybe they could stay with him in whatever chalet he decided to move in to. Nah, he couldn't just ask them to drop everything to live with him; it would be rude.

"Harry," Hermione said, walking up and taking his arm. "I think you have enough gold for now."

Harry looked down at his bag, and his eyes widened; while lost in thought, he'd stuffed his bag full to bursting with coins. He chuckled and dumped some out before following Hermione and Mrs. Granger out of the vault and to the cart (which both Grangers entered with no small amount of trepidation).

He could always worry about the living arrangements after the vacation.

…

"Harry, I'm doing laundry!" Mrs. Granger called up the stairs. "If you want your new clothes washed, bring them down!"

"Okay!" Harry called back, still ripping the tags from his T-shirts and tossing them in the general direction of his clothes hamper. He leaned down to gather up a cluster of cargo pants, standing and jumping when he spotted a head of bushy hair hovering on the far right edge of his field of vision.

"Got you!" Hermione sang, giggling at him from her perch on his bed, and Harry gave her a playful shove. She fell onto his bed, still giggling, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"I thought you were supposed to be the serious one," he said jokingly, and Hermione shrugged.

"That's only because Ron can't take _anything_ seriously," she said. "I have to balance him out. When it's just you and me, I can relax a little. Plus, it's summertime. Everyone gets a little goofy during summer."

"You get _really _goofy," Harry said, and Hermione stuck her tongue out at him, then her expression turned thoughtful.

"So, you how does it feel to own over thirty mansions?" she asked, and Harry shrugged.

"I wish I'd known sooner," he said. "I would've never gone back to the Dursleys after first year if I'd known I could pick a mansion to stay in for the summer."

Hermione laughed. "So, are you going to move into one of them?"

"I'd like to," Harry said. "I mean, I'd be spending most of the year at Hogwarts, but I think it'd be cool to stay in a mansion that's belonged to my family for years."

Hermione smiled at him. "It'd be lonely, though, wouldn't it?"

"Well, I'm not going alone," Harry said in puzzlement. "You can come, and your parents are invited, of course. And Ron and his family, too."

Hermione beamed at him, sitting up and pulling him into a hug. "Harry, that sounds wonderful. I'll tell Mum and Dad whenever you can have us."

Harry nodded. "Of course, with the vacation and going back to Hogwarts as soon as we get back, it'll probably be after third year before I can even go to visit one of these places."

"Well, I actually took a look at this scroll the goblins gave you, which is absolutely amazing, by the way," Hermione said, holding up the scroll the goblin (Kugroll, Harry has found out, was his name) had given him. "It looks like you have two chalets in and around France, and one of them is actually only about an hour drive from our hotel."

"D'you think we could go check it out while we're there?" Harry asked, eager to see actual proof that he owned a home, a place he could live in and call all his own.

"Of course," Hermione said with a smile. "I've already asked Mum, and she agreed right away. She loves you, you know."

Harry felt his face heat up, and Hermione laughed, nudging him with her elbow. As Harry nudged her back, another shout came up the stairs.

"Harry! Laundry!"

"Coming, Mrs. Granger!"

…

_June 23, 1993_

_7:23 a.m._

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

Albus Dumbledore didn't normally allow himself the luxury of sleeping in. As headmaster, he was obligated to be there for the students whenever needed. However, during the summer, when the castle was abandoned by the students and most of the staff, he liked to have the occasional lie-in.

"_Screech!"_

Albus's eyes snapped open as the owl (quite literally) screeched into his left ear. Someone had clearly not informed the creature of his plan to enjoy the second lazy day of summer to its fullest. Glancing over, he recognized the owl as belonging to Arabella Figg, his connection to Harry Potter. All traces of tiredness seemed to vanish as Albus swung his legs over the side of the bed and took the enveloped the owl held in its beak.

"Thank you," he said, and the owl blinked at him, turning and taking off out his window. Opening the letter, Albus read:

_Albus,_

_Harry is gone! The Durselys have up and moved right out from under me while I was spending the summer with Ruthie. As soon as I got back, I went to pay them a visit, and they were gone. I've no idea what became of Harry. I'm so sorry, Albus. I'll do what I can to make up for it._

_Arabella_

Albus was already on his feet and one his way to his armoire as he finished the letter. Pulling on his robes, he called, "Fawkes."

In a flash of flame, Fawkes appeared, staring at Dumbledore with a beady eye.

"Go to Molly's," Dumbledore said. "Find out if Harry is there for me."

As his phoenix nodded and disappeared, Dumbledore took his wand from its wall mount and made his way out into his office.

So much for a peaceful summer….

* * *

Gracias por la reading of my story, still don't know.

Review, por favor.


	3. Chapter 3

Removed the narrative author notes to improve story flow and because even iI/i was getting tired of reading them.

Read on!

* * *

_June 23, 1993_

_8:42 a.m._

_The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole, England_

Ginny yawned hugely as she made her way downstairs scratching her stomach in a very unladylike manner that her mum would fume about if she was awake. Fortunately she was still sound asleep, as was the rest of the Burrow. Ginny wasn't normally such an early riser, but the last few nights hadn't exactly been restful….

She shuddered, chasing those grim thoughts from her head; there was no use dwelling on what was past. Tom was gone, and he wasn't coming back.

_So stop thinking about it_, she berated herself, moving for the cupboard to maybe make a bowl of oatmeal to tie her over until Mum woke up and made a proper breakfast.

Her plans were interrupted, though, as a bright flash of flame burst over the kitchen table, and Ginny screamed, dropping the bowl she'd procured, which fell to the floor and shattered at her feet. Oblivious, Ginny stared at the point where the flame had burst, finding herself eye to eye with a phoenix.

"Um…oh…" was all she could say, recognizing the phoenix as belonging to Dumbledore. "You…want to speak to my mum, right?"

The phoenix inclined its head once, and Ginny nodded, tottering off to her mum's bedroom.

If she'd wanted anything to take her mind off of thoughts of Tom, she'd certainly gotten her wish.

…

Albus Dumbledore didn't allow himself to worry; he'd always lived by the creed "Time spent worrying is time that could be spent planning."

Of course, at this point, he found himself wondering if maybe there was a not-so-happy medium to this equation. It was now nine-thirty in the morning, and no one had any clue as to the whereabouts of Harry Potter. He'd already gotten word from Molly that Harry was not at the Burrow, and he was just about to go check on Number Four to see if he could find the location of Harry's family when his fireplace burst into green flames, a familiar head appearing amongst the logs.

"Anything, Arthur?" Albus asked, and Arthur's head shook itself, sighing.

"I've asked all over Diagon Alley," he said. "Tom says he didn't see Harry, but he had to go to the basement at one point, so he could very well have missed him. None of the shopkeepers remember seeing him, even Florean, and the goblins wouldn't give me a straight answer; you know how they are about customer confidentiality."

Albus nodded gravely; trying to get a goblin to divulge customer information without the customer's consent was very much like trying to get a brick wall to tell you who had last leaned against it. "Very well. Thank you, Arthur. Please send word if you find anything out."

"Will do, Albus," Arthur said. "If there's anything else I can do, you need only ask."

"I appreciate your help," Albus said, and Arthur's head disappeared with _pop_, the flames dying as quickly as they'd come. Albus sighed at great length, standing from his chair and calling again, "Fawkes."

In a flash of flame, the phoenix appeared and alighted on his shoulder, though Albus felt no pressure; phoenixes never burdened their partners.

"I think," Albus said, "that we need to go to Privet Drive."

…

Helen Rochester sighed contentedly as she sipped at her breakfast tea, a light earl grey blend that she was particularly fond of, and twitched her foot to the beat of the music that filled the room while she read her paper. She simply loved her Wednesdays off; a nice break in the middle of the week from the monotony of running a law firm. Currently, Jacob, her husband, was off at his own job (he was a celebrated pastry chef), and little Spencer was at his football day camp, probably running himself ragged, which would make him much more bearable this evening.

Yes, Helen's current state could be described as nothing short of nirvana. Unfortunately, someone else seemed to have different plans.

_Ding-DONG._

Helen let a decidedly different sigh, one of frustration, as she set her teacup down and stood, stretching slightly to loosen her muscles from their extended stay in the chair and making her way to the door, opening it.

"Can I help…?" the rest of her question died in her throat as she looked upon the man standing on her porch, a man who defied all conventions of normality. From his flamboyantly cut purple suit to the massive amount of hair and beard he had, topped off with a pair of half-moon spectacles that wouldn't look out of place in the box of family heirlooms her grandmother had given her years ago (perched on a nose so crooked that it had probably been broken at least twice in the man's extensive lifetime), this man just looked too absurd to be _allowed_. The fact that he was still there when Helen blinked was the only proof that this wasn't some trick of the light or hallucination brought on by overworking herself (she was still open to the latter notion).

"Good morning," the stranger said, smiling genially. "My name is Albus Dumbledore. I'm looking for Vernon Dursley."

…

_June 23, 1993_

_9:55 p.m._

_Paris, France_

Meanwhile, the boy who had no idea that he was the subject of a covert nationwide search was currently lounging well outside of the nation that was searching for him. Harry Potter didn't know if it was possible to get jetlag without actually having travelled by jet, but he was certainly exhausted from a full day of travel. The sun had just set, and the Paris nightlife was currently taking to the streets, ensuring that the Parisian night would be just as loud and bustling as the day. The vacationing Grangers plus Harry would have loved to have joined in the activities, but that would have to wait until they were well-rested.

"What's this we're watching?" Harry asked, stuffing a mouthful of crisps into his mouth as he lazed on his bed. Sitting next to his head, Hermione shrugged, taking a bite from a granola bar and eyeing the show lineup provided by the hotel.

"I'm not long on French," she said, "but it looks like… 'Those Who…Wear Masks'? Some sort of drama about stage actors living in a haunted theater or something. I have no idea."

"French TV is pretty crazy," Harry said, and Hermione giggled.

"They probably think _our_ TV is crazy," she said, smiling down at him. Harry grinned back up at her, and she poked his nose. "Silly boy."

"_You're_ the one who's gone silly," Harry said. Hermione giggled again, poking him in the side. He jerked away, and Hermione eyed him curiously before poking him again. This time, Harry made a small noise as he jumped back, and Hermione got a wicked gleam in her eyes.

"Are you ticklish, Harry?" she asked, her voice laced with amusement. Harry tried scooting away, but Hermione pinned him and began tickling his sides mercilessly. Harry laughed and struggled to get away, but Hermione followed him, her hands never leaving his sides. Soon, Harry reached the edge of the mattress, and the pair overbalanced and fell to the floor with twin noises of shock.

"AH!"

"OH!"

Harry groaned as he pushed a clump of Hermione's voluminous hair aside and founding himself staring into her brown eyes, which were widened with worry.

"Oh, gosh, are you okay?" Hermione asked, running her hands over his head to probably feel for bumps or tender spots. "Harry, I'm so sorry, I'll be more…careful next…time."

"S'okay," Harry said as they stared at each other, neither seeming able to look away. Hermione's hand had already thoroughly searched Harry's head for injuries, but she didn't seem eager to remove her hand from the side of his face. He wasn't sure whether to point this out or not, or if he could even form words if he wanted to. Gosh, her eyes were pretty.

Their noses touched seconds before their lips. Harry closed his eyes, because from what little he understood, you were supposed to do that when you kissed. Hermione ran her fingers down the side of his face, making a small noise of contentment before she pulled away.

A knock sounded at the door, and Harry's eyes shot open to see Hermione looking down at him in shock. She scrambled to her feet, pulled him up, and shot for the door, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for the knob. Harry's heart was hammering, though he was sure it had little if anything to do with the senior Grangers' sudden intrusion and more with the indescribable sensation of Hermione's mouth on his.

…

Of course, Harry didn't get any sleep that night. All three beds were situated in the same room, so he and Hermione couldn't really say anything to each other without the risk of being overheard, but it wouldn't have made a difference anyhow, he supposed; Hermione was lying on her side, facing away from him and either fell asleep quite easily or was pretending. He felt slightly hurt that she had kissed him like that and then simply decided to ignore it, but it was all rather sudden. Maybe she didn't mean it?

He felt a slight pang at that thought; he _hoped_ she'd meant it. He'd certainly liked kissing Hermione and fervently hoped he'd have another opportunity to do it. But did this mean he liked her? Was he old enough to like girls? He supposed twelve going on thirteen was old enough to stop with the "girls are gross" thing and start with "girls are really confusing and make me feel uncomfortable but all-around pleasant feelings".

He glanced over at Hermione again and found her staring at him, her eyes going wide when she realized she'd been caught. For a moment, they simply stared each other, Hermione biting her lip as she twirled a lock of hair around her finger, probably a nervous habit. Then, slowly, tentatively, she stuck her hand out. Their beds were close enough together that Harry could reach and hesitantly touch hers, and she laced her fingers with his, giving his hand a squeeze. Harry felt himself smile, and she smiled back.

"Hi, Harry," she whispered, barely audible over the humming of the air conditioner in the corner.

"Hey, Hermione," he said back.

They lay there, their hands intertwined, not letting go until they fell asleep.

* * *

Short, but with a little plot progression, I suppose. Please review!


	4. Chapter 4

Ugh. Tired. Too tired to proofread, but I'm sick of putting off posting this, so by all means, read it and tell me if you find any errors. I will then have a good think about whether or not I want to fix it.

* * *

_June 24, 1993_

_8:04 a.m._

_Albus Dumbledore's Office, Hogwarts School_

"Albus," Minerva announced herself as she stepped in to find Albus sitting at his desk with a bald black wizard that she knew quite well. "Oh, good morning Kingsley."

Kingsley turned in his seat and gave Minerva a smile. "Minerva. I hope you're well."

"As well as can be hoped, given the circumstances," Minerva said, taking the seat next Kingsley. Albus turned to her expectantly. He didn't look too good. It had been a full twenty-four hours since Arabella had lost contact with Harry and his family, and no one had managed to turn up any clue as to his whereabouts. "Still no word from St. Mungos or the Leaky Cauldron. The goblins won't give me anything, and Molly says he hasn't turned up at the Burrow."

"I've put some of my men at the auror office on alert," Kingsley said, "but if we don't want this to go public, we can't let too many people know."

Albus shook his head. "If it got to the press that Harry Potter is missing, it would be a disaster. Minerva, have you spoken with Remus?"

Minerva nodded. "He'd be glad to fill Gilderoy's post, and he's said he will search high and low for Harry until he is found. And…Albus I had a thought on my way here."

"Do tell."

"Well, we've checked with the Weasleys, but what of the Grangers?"

Albus stared at Minerva for a split second before he stood sharply, his chair scraping the floor as he moved to the fireplace, Minerva and Kingsley hot on his heels.

…

Harry sighed, groaning a little as he stretched his legs and slumped in his seat, having probably done a year's worth of walking in the past four hours. He'd have to replace his brand new trainers at this point, as the soles had surely been worn smooth.

"Aw, don't be a baby," Hermione giggled, sitting next to him and setting her huge plastic bag of purchases next to her. "You're supposed to be the athletic one."

"I play quidditch, Hermione," Harry said. "Not much legwork in quidditch."

Hermione rolled her eyes, sneaking a glance at the counter of the outdoor café where her parents were currently ordering them all lunch. Biting her lip, she scooted closer, placing her fingers on Harry's chin and turning him to place a short but magnificent kiss against his lips. She scooted away seconds later, blushing (as Harry surely was as well) and giving him the most adorable smile ever.

"Does that make all the walking worth it?" she asked.

Harry could only nod. "We're…going to be doing a lot more walking after lunch, too, though…right?"

She nodded, staring at her hands folded in her lip, toying with the hem of her denim skirt. "Yeah. So…I guess I'll have to…make up for that later tonight, won't I?"

"Definitely," Harry said, and Hermione's smile grew into a full-blown grin as she gave his hand a squeeze under the table before her parents joined them, placing a small plastic device on the table. Hermione looked at it curiously.

"When it buzzes, our food's ready," Mrs. Granger said, and Hermione nodded. "So, Harry, I've been dying to ask. How did you and Hermione get to be friends? She's been so tight-lipped about it, and I want to know why."

"Mum," Hermione said sharply, but Mrs. Granger smiled, waving a hand at her.

"I want to know!" she said with a grin. "Is it something really embarrassing? You wrote and said that you didn't exactly hit it off, and then you said later that you were best friends. I'm just curious."

"Well, we saved you from the troll, right?" Harry said, and Hermione gasped.

"Troll?" Emma asked, looking confused.

"Saved?" Mr. Granger added, looking up from his stack of brochures.

"Yeah, a troll got into the school and found her, but Ron and I knocked it out," Harry said, looking to see Hermione shaking her head, eyes wide.

"A troll?" Mrs. Granger asked again, her eyes narrowing. "Like the ones in the Tolkien books?"

"Not quite so big," Hermione said glumly, staring at the black device on the table, which was blinking occasionally with a red light.

"They let trolls in there?" Mr. Granger demanded, and Harry shook his head.

"Not usually," Harry said. "This one was let in by a bad teacher, but he's gone now."

"But a _troll_," Mr. Granger said, his voice raising unconsciously, but he quieted after a look from his wife. "Don't they have security measures against that sort of thing?"

"Well, Hogwarts is supposed to be the safest place there is," Hermione said quickly. "That teacher was bad, Dad."

"Then how did he make it through the hiring process?" her dad countered. "They didn't notice anything in the interviews?"

"Is there anything else we should know about, Hermione?" Mrs. Granger asked. "You told me you stopped writing at the end of last year because you were studying hard and didn't have time. Is that what happened?"

Hermione looked up and got caught in her mother's stern gaze, her eyes widening in fear. "Um…not exactly."

"What happened?"

Hermione's hand found Harry's once again, clutching it in fear as she stared at the table. "Mum, please don't be mad. I just…wanted to stay with my friends."

…

"When we find this boy, I'm giving him detention every bloody night this year," Minerva said, getting a deep chuckle from Kingsley as the pair stood on the sidewalk in front of the Levinson household. Upon arriving at the Granger home to find it deserted, the trio happened upon their neighbor, Marcus Levinson, who was apparently housesitting for the family while they were on holidy. After insisting that Albus knew the family quite well and that it was of vital importance he contact them as soon as possible, Marcus invited Albus into his home while he searched for the Grangers' contact information.

"Minerva," Kingsley said. "I've been thinking. Albus said that Vernon Dursley told Harry that he was no longer welcome in his home, that he was not even part of their family. There have to be some implications to that."

"That, Kingsley, is what I think has Albus so worried," Minerva said as Albus walked toward them, muggle suit ruffling with a slight breeze. "The blood wards that keep him safe may have been nullified entirely, not to mention that a wizard in Harry's position, heir to an ancient noble bloodline, would be declared a legal adult once all guardianship is revoked, regardless of age – "

"Minerva, how is your French?" Albus asked, and Minerva looked at him quizzically.

"Passable," she said. "Are we going to France?"

"Paris, to be precise," Albus replied. "The Granger family is on holiday, and I believe Harry is with them."

…

"Hermione, you have to agree with me that that place is unsafe," Mrs. Granger said. "I mean, giant trolls, three-headed dogs, a _basilisk_! When I think of you petrified for weeks…" she wrapped her arms around her daughter, and Hermione's eyes began to shine.

"I'm sorry, Mum," she said, hugging her back. "I…was afraid you'd make me leave Hogwarts."

Mrs. Granger shared a glance with her husband, and Harry felt a sense of dread as they nodded to each other. Hermione, hearing the lack of response, looked up at her mother.

"Mum?"

"Honey, you can't go back there," she said, and Hermione scooted away from her mother, shaking her head. "Hermione, don't be unreasonable. You almost died _twice_. I don't care what anyone says, Hogwarts is _far_ from the safest place on earth."

"But Mum, I want to learn magic!" Hermione said, looking at Harry in panic. "I want to stay with Har—with my friends. Please!"

"Hermione, you can still go to a magical school," Mrs. Granger assured her. "Just…there must be a different one you can go to. If not in England, surely somewhere. Even if we have to send you over to America."

Harry felt his heart race at the thought of Hermione leaving Hogwarts, leaving his life.

"Mrs. Granger," he said. "I…you don't have to worry about Hermione. I'll make sure she's safe."

"Harry, I know you would," Mrs. Granger said with a smile, playing with Harry's hair. "You're a sweetheart, and I'm so happy that my daughter's become friends with you, but the fact is, you shouldn't _have_ to keep Hermione safe. Neither of you should have to worry about your safety while at school. In fact…I know we have no say in your life, but you really should consider transferring as well."

"But…" Harry couldn't imagine leaving Hogwarts, the first place he'd ever felt at home. But the Granger's had a point. Harry had never had to worry about fighting for his life in his muggle primary schools. He'd simply thought it a commonplace thing in the wizard world, but what if Hogwarts really was a dangerous place? He looked at Hermione, her expression pained, her hand still clutching at his. "Well…."

"Harry," the relief in the new voice as palpable, and all four of those gathered at the table jumped as a silver-haired old man in an impeccably cut suit sat with them in a fifth chair that was definitely not there moments before. "There you are."

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry asked, shocked at the sudden arrival of his headmaster. "What…what are you doing here, sir?"

"Looking for you, dear boy," Albus said, smiling genially. "You caused us quite a stir."

Over the old man's shoulder, Harry saw Professor McGonagall and a tall black man he'd never seen before ordering coffee at the counter.

"Um…sorry," Harry said.

Dumbledore only shook his head. "It's quite alright. You're safe, and that's what's important. Now, if you'll come with me, we need to get you back to Hogwarts."

"But, sir, term doesn't start for two months," Harry said.

"Harry, we'll have plenty of time for explanations later," Dumbledore said. "I just need you to come to Hogwarts while we sort things out with your aunt and uncle."

"No," Harry said quickly, shaking his head emphatically. "I'm not going back with them. I don't care, I'm not."

"Harry, be reasonable – "

"I think the boy is being perfectly reasonable," Mr. Granger spoke up, surveying Dumbledore with no small amount of distaste. "Can I assume you're Albus Dumbledore?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said, smiling at the man. "I'm sorry. I've forgotten my manners. I am Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts."

"Ah, excellent," Mr. Granger said. "I'd like to inform of my daughter's immediate withdrawal from your school. We'll be seeking education elsewhere."

Dumbledore looked mildly surprised as McGonagall and the stranger joined them, McGonagall having apparently heard the tail-end of their discussion.

"You're withdrawing, Miss Granger?" she asked, sounding shocked. "Why would you do that?"

"I'd rather not send my daughter to a school where she has to worry about trolls and three-headed dogs and basilisks. Not to mention your staffing policies, which leave much to be desired."

McGonagall was stunned speechless, and Dumbledore took this opportunity to once again persuade Harry to leave with him.

"Harry, you must come with me at once," he said, gazing imperiously at Harry. "If need be, you can stay at Hogwarts until it's time for the school year."

"No," Harry said again. "I'll stay at one of my houses, and…I don't know if I'm going back to Hogwarts."

"Where else would you go?" Dumbledore asked.

"Wherever Hermione's going," Harry said with a small smile at Hermione, who beamed back at him. "Any place good enough for her is fine with me."

"But Hogwarts is the safest place there is," McGonagall insisted, and Mrs. Granger glared at her.

"Then explain why my daughter was assaulted by a troll," she said coldly. "Or why she spent the better part of two months petrified in the infirmary while we weren't informed at all."

McGonagall couldn't seem to think of a good response, and Mrs. Granger stood, followed closely by the rest. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we have some sightseeing to do. Good day."

"Harry," Dumbledore called as they walked off. "Harry, you must listen."

Ignoring the protests of his headmaster, Harry followed the senior Grangers back into the crowded streets of Paris. As they walked, Mrs. Granger looked back at Harry. "Listen, Harry, we don't want to force you into anything. If you want to stay Hogwarts, we won't stop you, but – "

"No, it's okay," Harry cut in, shaking his head as they walked. "I guess you do have a point. I never really thought about it, but I'd like to go through a school year without…y'know, worrying about whether or not I'm going to die. Plus, he wanted to send me back to the Dursleys. I'm never going back to them. And…I'd…miss Hermione," he finished, feeling his cheeks heat up.

"Is that why you still haven't let go of her hand?" Mrs. Granger asked, and Harry could practically hear the laughter in her voice. Harry looked down in shock at their entwined hands and up at Hermione, whose look of surprise probably mirrored his own.

"Oops," she said, and the pair laughed.

…

"Well, this has taken a wonderful turn for the worse," Minerva said, taking Emma Granger's vacated seat. Kingsley likewise dropped into Harry's chair.

"What do we do now?" he asked no one in particular. Albus answered him.

"We must convince Harry to come back to Hogwarts," he said. Minerva looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"He's made it clear that he doesn't intend to return as long as Hermione is leaving," Minerva said. Dumbledore nodded.

"Then perhaps we should convince Hermione to return," he said.

…

It was with a huge sigh of relief that Harry stepped into the air-conditioned confines of their hotel room, toddling over to his bed and collapsing, enjoying the blast of cold air on his head.

"Wuss," Hermione giggled, sitting next to him on the bed, her body inches from his. Despite his exhaustion, her presence so close to him awoke him immediately. He rolled so that he was looking up at her, finding her smiling down at him. She looked breathtaking today in a pink spaghetti-strap top and denim skirt that was showing more of her skin than Harry had ever seen before. She blushed under his scrutiny.

"What?"

"N-nothing," Harry said, also feeling his face heat up. "I'm just…glad I'm here with you."

Her smile grew. "Really?"

He nodded. "I'm glad I got to know…this side of you. Don't get me wrong, you're still brilliant to be with when we're at Hogwarts, but…."

"I'm just a joy when I let my hair down?" she finished for him.

"Definitely."

"Alright, you two," Mrs. Granger's voice interrupted the moment as she stepped out of the bathroom clad in a dark brown bikini that was reasonably conservative but still left Mr. Granger hard-pressed to look away from his wife. "Time to hit the pool."

"Oh, yay!" Hermione jumped from the bed, moving to dig through her bag and producing a bundle of pale purple fabric and heading for the bathroom. Harry slid from the bed and dug through his own bag to dig out his new swimming trunks. He plopped down on the bed to wait for Hermione to finish changing and saw Mr. and Mrs. Granger smiling at him.

"So are you having fun, Harry?" Mrs. Granger asked, digging through her bag to pull out a bottle of sunscreen and a book.

"Yes, Mrs. Granger," Harry said, and she smiled at him.

"Please, Mrs. Granger makes me sound so old," she laughed. "Just call us Dan and Emma."

"Oh…alright," Harry said. "Um…yes, I'm having fun, Emma."

"I hope that little visit at the café today didn't ruin your vacation," she said, sitting on Hermione's bed opposite him.

"No, no," Harry said, though the nagging worry of leaving Hogwarts had been resting somewhere in the back of his mind. "Well…a bit. Hogwarts was the first home I ever had, you know?"

"Well, now you have all kinds of houses you can call home," Emma said with a smile. "And you're always welcome with us, Harry. Always."

Harry nodded, unable to stop a huge smile. "Thank you."

"Ready!" Hermione announced, stepping from the bathroom, and it was at that moment that Harry Potter lost all vestiges of rational thought.

She looked _fantastic_. If Harry had thought that she had been showing a bit of skin before, it was nothing compared to what she wearing now. The light purple bikini was modest but snug, accentuating every bit of Hermione that needed it in order for that last little bit of mental barrier to crumble away, revealing the undeniable statement: Hermione is a girl!

"Harry? You alright?"

"I think you've put the poor lad into shock," Dan said with a chuckle. Hermione rolled her eyes and walked over to Harry, poking him in the nose.

"Come on, silly bum," she said, and Harry blinked, his mind booting back up as he looked up at her (his eyes admittedly lagging on their way up her figure). "Go get dressed."

"Right."

As they left, Hermione and her mum took of the lead, Dan clapping Harry on the shoulder as he walked by the older man.

"You seem like a good lad, so I'm only going to say this once," he said in a low voice, nodding toward Hermione's retreating figure. "That's my only daughter, and she's the most important little girl in my life. You treat her right, understand?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, nodding fervently. "I definitely will."

"Good," he said. "Because let me tell you, a basilisk or a dark lord will seem like kittens compared to an angry father."

Harry gave a nervous chuckle. "Got it."

"Daniel, stop scaring the poor boy and let the lovebirds walk together."

"Muuuum!"

…

The pool was a sight. A huge glass dome surrounded the whole thing, protecting would-be swimmers from the light drizzle that was currently falling from the darkening afternoon sky. The pool itself was massive, the water a pristine blue, and best of all, it was deserted, which meant that Hermione's shouted cry of "cannonball!" and subsequent leap into the pool disturbed no one. Chuckling at her antics, Harry trekked across the gritty concrete and chose to wade slowly into the shallows while Dan and Emma retreated to the screened-off hot tub situated against the brick wall adjacent to the hotel.

"Aw, c'mon, Harry!" Hermione shouted, surfacing with her bushy hair plastered to her head. "Dive in!"

"I'd rather not," Harry said, smiling at her. "I…dunno how to swim, really."

"What?" Hermione asked, her look fading to one of shock as she swam to meet him, her wet suit clinging to her as she splayed her soaking hair over her shoulders. Harry couldn't stop himself from glancing at her chest, and there went that rational thought again as he noticed that the cold air on her wet suit was causing a rather noticeable change.

"Focus, Harry," Hermione said, ducking so her face lowered into his vision, and Harry blushed as she giggled at him. "You never learned to swim?"

"The Dursleys never really saw any reason to give me lessons," Harry said with a shrug.

"Well, then I'll teach you now," Hermione said, taking his hands and tugging him toward deeper waters.

"But…" Harry trailed off as the water crept up his chest.

"Don't you trust me?" Hermione asked, smiling at him, and Harry nodded. "Don't worry. Mum's had lifeguard training. We won't let you drown."

Thus, Harry spent the better part of the next half hour with the scantily clad object of his mounting affections attempting to teach him to swim while wet and slippery.

He didn't learn much.

"Harry, are you even listening?" Hermione asked as she demonstrated how to tread water, and Harry blinked.

"Of course not," he said. She rolled her eyes, smiling as she swam toward him, gripping his shoulders and leaning in to place a kiss against his lips.

"You silly boy," she said, moving away. "Well, we've got all week to teach you. For now, you get an Acceptable."

"I dunno, I think I deserve an Exceeds Expectations for just being able to pay attention."

Hermione sighed and lowered her voice. "I noticed most of that attention was on my body, however."

Harry shrugged, and Hermione playfully swatted him on the shoulder. "Prat."

…

They swam for another half hour and, after a brief soak in the hot tub with the senior Grangers, retired to the hotel room where Hermione flopped down on the bedand began channel surfing, eventually finding an English-language broadcast of some documentary on how bookbinding worked.

"Oh, I love these sorts of shows," Hermione said happily, settling in next to Harry, who was lying on his stomach on his bed, sifting through a channel guide the hotel had provided.

"Are you serious?" he asked as the narrator spoke of page sorting and binding glue with all the enthusiasm that Ron spoke of quidditch. "Hermione, please."

"Oh, honestly, Harry, it won't kill you to learn something once in a while," she said, a little of the classic Hermione Granger showing through as she rolled her eyes at him. "And who knows; you might actually like it."

"Oh, fine," Harry said with an exaggerated long-suffering sigh, ignoring the chuckles from Dan and Emma, who were sorting through different brochures for a place to eat for dinner. Hermione smiled happily, scooting close enough that they were literally pressed together from shoulder to foot, her toes curling and playing with his as she watched. Okay, he might enjoy _something_, but maybe not the movie. On the screen, the narrator was now describing how the books were packed into shipments and whatnot while one screen, a forklift toted pallets of textbooks to a truck of some sort.

"I'm just enthralled," Harry grumbled, using a word he'd actually learned from Hermione, shooting her a smirk. She stuck her tongue out at him, and Harry felt her foot contact his backside. "Did you just _kick_ me?" he laughed.

She gave him an angelic smile. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Sticking his tongue out at her, Harry bopped her back, and she squealed, giggling at him. "Owie!"

"That's what you get," Harry said, giving her a mock menacing look, which she returned in kind, kicking him back again. Harry retaliated by placing his hand on the back of her neck and tickling her.

"Aaaah, H-Harry!" she giggled, squirming under his touch and rolling away to the edge of the bed. Harry followed her, moving to tickle her under her arms, and she squealed, wriggling and attempting to move out of the way. "Noooo!"

"Give up?" Harry asked, and Hermione shook her head.

"Never!" she rolled away nimbly, snatching up Harry's pillow and swinging it at him, bopping him in the head. He ducked another swing and leaped to Hermione's bed, grabbing her pillow just in time to block another shot from her and counter with one of his own to her side. She giggled, dodging behind him and swatting him in the back before he managed to clamber over his bed, putting it between himself and Hermione.

"You're outmatched, Granger," he said, and Hermione winked at him, grabbing his blanket and tossing it over him. His vision was obscured by the floral print blanket as Hermione began to pummel him with the pillow before he tracked the sourced of her giggles and threw himself in their general direction. He knew he hit his mark when a scream met his ears and he collided with a light frame, apparently crushing her onto one of the beds.

"Ahh, you're too heavy!" she giggled, pushing him away, and Harry managed to extricate himself just in time to be tackled, falling to the floor with Hermione and landing in heap of laughter, too exhausted to move anymore. Next to him, Hermione panted, still giggling. He looked over and saw her smiling at him.

"Draw?" he asked, and Hermione nodded.

"Draw," she agreed, leaning in to peck him on the nose.

"I feel sorry for the maid," came Dan's voice, and Emma laughed, startling them; they'd forgotten completely about Hermione's parents. Sitting up, Harry saw that blankets and pillows were strewn about the room, and a chair was even tipped over.

"Dinner, anyone?" Emma asked, and the two kids readily agreed, rushing from the room on the heels of Hermione's parents.

* * *

I wrote this in like two days over a total of probably like ten hours in my kitchen while drinking tea and watching Surf's Up over and over again. I think it's alright, but let me know.


	5. Chapter 5

As stated on my profile, due to an unprecedented amount of apathy likely brought on by early onset S.A.D., I've found myself in a writing mood. Thus, this chapter, which was written over the course of a few months. Enjoy.

* * *

_June 25, 1993_

_12:43 p.m._

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

"Let us review," Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair and surveying the rolling blackboard that he had situated in the center of his office. "Fortescue."

"In his first year, Harry Potter showed distaste for being taught by Professor Severus Snape, as have every non-Slytherin student under his tutelage," the portrait said, consulting a parchment he'd borrowed from Tifton. "Severus Snape wholeheartedly reciprocated these feelings and continues to do so."

Albus nodded as words scribbled themselves on the blackboard. "And Miss Granger? Dylis?"

"On Halloween of her first year, Hermione Granger was attacked by a troll let into the school by Quirinus Quirell, now deceased Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Dylis Derwent recited. "She had to be saved by her fellow classmates rather than a teacher, and no Ministry help was sought to investigate. Indeed, no follow-up action was taken."

Dumbledore nodded. "And the philosopher's stone?"

"Later that year, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger had to stop Quirrel from stealing the Philosopher's Stone," Basil stated, fixing Dumbledore with a stern look. "Not only did the trio manage to get past obstacles designed to deter full-grown wizards, they also reached the stone and prevented Quirrel, who was later found to be possessed by Lord Voldemort, from reaching the stone and restoring Lord Voldemort to power."

"Admirable," Dumbledore said, inclining his head.

"Indeed," Basil replied, "but in my day, we let the adults save the world and had to motivate the students, not the other way around."

"Granted," Dumbledore said, turning to Dippet. "Armando?"

"Last year, Salazar Slytherin's basilisk was released from the Chamber of Secrets and terrorized the muggle-born populace in the school," Dippet said. "There were no fatalities, but four students, a ghost, and a cat were petrified, Hermione Granger among them. The muggle families of the student victims were given no news of their children's fates. Once again, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were the ones to find the Chamber and save Ginny Weasley, who was taken prisoner, and slay the basilisk after being attacked by the professor that _you _hired," Dippet was gaining a full head of steam now, and his opinion on the matter was clear. "Harry Potter almost _died_ along with Miss Weasley and was only saved by the timely intervention of your phoenix, Fawkes."

"Dropped the ball on that one, didn't you?" Phineas said, smirking from his portrait frame.

Dumbledore sighed, surveying the blackboard, which had been filled with scribbles as the former headmasters had listed the potential grievances Potter and Granger might have against him. He had to admit, after seeing them all in front of him, he might be inclined to change schools as well.

"We must fix this," he said.

…

_June 25, 1993_

_1:34 p.m._

_Potter Manor, Paris, France_

"Harry…."

"I know, Hermione."

"This is…."

"I _know_."

"You _have_ to have us over next summer holiday, Harry. I don't ask for much, but you _have_ to."

"…I know."

The foursome were currently staring up at the smaller of Harry's two France homes, a three story manor nestled in a cove of trees by a river removed from the city proper. It was definitely newer than Hogwarts, but still old enough that a historian would likely love to have a look around. A redbrick path led up to a raised deck with meticulously maintained planters arranged around a waist-high brick wall. Hermione already itched to grab a good book and settle into a nice deck chair and read under the Parisian afternoon sky.

"It looks like it's in perfect shape," Dad said, eyeing the house. "I'd expect a building that's been unoccupied for so many years to have been…well, vandalized somehow."

"Well, there are muggle-repelling enchantments al around the place, Dad," Hermione explained. "Even at the entrance, Harry had to pronounce us as his guests. If anyone tried to just break in, they'd be in for a nasty shock, muggle _or_ wizard."

"But still, the lawn is immaculate," Dad pressed. "There should be weeds, at least, or maybe some crabgrass."

"Well some of the richer families typically have a – "

"Master Harry Potter, sir!"

They all jumped, and Hermione for her part felt her heart attempt to leap out of her chest, as very suddenly, there was a house elf standing in their midst wearing what looked like a very expensive pillowcase emblazoned with a family crest and staring up at Harry with a look of utmost adoration. His voice, unlike the house-elves Hermione had read about, was a rather rich baritone. His ears, like those of most house elves, seemed to sag under their own weight, and his nose was large, occupying at least a third of his face.

"Um…hi?" Harry said as the elf bowed deeply.

"Ringo has been waiting most eagerly for your return, ever since he heard that Master Harry finally received his inheritance!" the elf said happily. "Would Master Harry like anything for him and his guests to eat? Or Ringo could put on tea. Ringo has kept the pantry well-stocked with all kinds of tea. It was Master Harry's grandmother's favorite pastime to drink tea on the terrace."

"M-my grandmum stayed here?" Harry asked, and Ringo nodded, his great ears flapping.

"Frequently," the elf said. "When Master Harry's father was young, they would spend their summers here."

"Dad?" Harry whispered, gazing intently back up at the house. "My dad stayed here?"

Ringo nodded fervently. "Master James was fond of this house, as were his friends."

"You knew my dad and his friends from school?" Harry asked eagerly, and Ringo nodded, obviously excited to be helpful to his master.

"They were always nice to Ringo," the elf said, smiling hugely up at Harry. Harry turned to Hermione, and she knew that longing in his eyes.

"Tea sounds lovely, Ringo," she said. "Right, Mum, Dad?"

The senior Grangers had been staring at the elf in unmasked shock since his arrival, but they managed nods upon Hermione's question.

"Delightful," Mum said.

…

Ringo led them into the house proper. The entryway alone took Hermione's breath away. The walls and floors were a rich dark wood, a crimson rug placed in the center of the floor. Along the walls sat plants of all kinds, muggle and magic in nature, and numerous portraits (probably of Potters past) hung on the walls, the occupants waving when they stepped inside.

"Ah, that one's a Potter, alright," one of the portraits, an older lady, said fondly, smiling in Harry's direction. "Samuel had that exact same hair. Never lay flat, no matter what charms I tried."

"Yes, Charlus was the same," another man said, prodding his son, who looked rather like Harry, though his eyes were bright blue, and his jaw was noticeably broader. "Runs in the male side of the family."

"Are those tellies?" Dad asked, and Hermione shook her head, giggling.

"Remember when I told you about the moving portraits, Dad?" she asked, nodding at the pictures. "I wasn't joking."

"You mean, they're…?" Dad trailed off as he approached one of the pictures, leaning in to stare at the occupant, who looked curiously back.

"You can't be a muggle, can you?" the man asked. He, like the rest, had abysmally messy hair, though it was shoulder-length. Dad nodded. "Wonderful! I've always wanted to meet one!"

"Friedrich, be nice," the older woman said, turning and looking back at Harry with a smile. "Welcome. I'm Augustine Potter the third. You must be my great-great-great grandson."

"Harry," Harry said, sounding rather overwhelmed, and Augustine's smile widened.

"Harold, that must be your doing," she nodded at Charlus's father. "James was always fond of you."

"Ah, glad to see I left an impression," Harold remarked, smirking at Harry. "Alright, lad?"

"Alright," Harry replied, looking at the portraits. "You're…my family, then?"

"Well, who else would be hanging in a Potter manor?" the boy, Charlus, asked, snickering.

"Well, there is that portrait of that warlock from Norway on the third floor," another portrait of a bearded wizard in Victorian clothing said. "I think he tutored Advarius Potter IV around 1714 or so. I wouldn't talk to him, though. He doesn't speak a lick of English, and he's rather ill-tempered."

"We're getting off topic," Augustine said, and the other portraits quieted. She turned to Harry. "On behalf of all of us, I'd like to welcome you. If you have any questions about the manor, or about the Potter family in general, you can ask any of us."

"Did you ever meet my mum?" Harry asked immediately. The pictures all glanced at each other before Augustine shook her head.

"Unfortunately, James never brought her here," she said. "After he left Hogwarts, he didn't really have time for vacations to France, you know."

Harry nodded; with Voldemort on the loose, surely his dad would have other priorities.

"We did get to meet the infamous Marauders, however," Augustine went on, and Harry looked up in confusion.

"The…Marauders?"

"You're James Potter's boy, and you've never heard of the Marauders!" Harold shouted, his eyes widening in obvious shock. "Grab a chair and sit down, lad! Let me regale you!"

…

So it was that Harry, Hermione, Dan, and Emma spent the afternoon with Harold, Charlus, and Augustine escorting them through the mansion (almost every room had portraits, so they could move freely), Harry hanging on Harold's every word as he spoke of Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew, his father's closest friends.

"They called themselves the Marauders, and they even had little codenames for each other," Harold said as they sat in the kitchen, Ringo delightedly serving them some wine and a cheese tray. "Sirius was Padfoot, Remus was Moony, and Peter was Wormtail. Your dad, he was Prongs."

"Why those nicknames?" Harry asked.

"They were animagi," Harold said, and Hermione gasped.

"In school?" she asked. Harold nodded.

"Yes, ma'am! Finally got the hang of it around…fifth year, I think."

"Why would they do that?" Hermione asked, looking confused. "Surely not just for the sake of it."

"That wouldn't surprise me," Harold said with a chuckle. "Most of what those four did was just because they felt like it. But, no, they had good reason. You see, young Remus was a werewolf."

"Oh, my," Hermione breathed.

"My dad was friends with a werewolf?" Harry asked, grinning, and Harold chuckled at his enthusiasm.

"Oh, it wasn't nearly as exciting as all that," he said. "Remus was actually the responsible one of the group. Prefect, perfect OWLs and NEWTs. He just had a 'furry little problem', they called it. Although Sirius was fond of referring to it as his 'time of the month'."

Harry and Hermione burst out laughing at that; Sirius sounded like a fun person.

"What did they turn into?" Harry asked.

"Your father was a stag, which is where Prongs comes from," Harold said. "Peter was a rat, so Wormtail. And Sirius turned into a great black dog, Padfoot. James took to calling him Snuffles after a while, just to piss him off, though."

More laughter from the children, and Hermione found herself smiling wider when she saw how much fun Harry was having learning about his father and his friends.

"So, whatever happened to them?"

Harold shook his head. "We've no idea," he said. "We heard from a couple of portraits that have doubles in other homes that James and Lily died, but other than that, we don't know what happened to the other three. Their last visit was the summer before sixth year."

Harry sighed, his shoulder slumping. Hermione wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulder.

"Don't worry, Harry, we'll find them," Hermione said. "And then you can hear even more stories firsthand."

He visibly brightened at that, and Harold chortled.

"She's a keeper, that one," he said, and Harry nodded, turning red as he looked over at Hermione.

"Yeah, she is," he said, and Hermione felt her own face heating up.

…

_June 26, 1993_

_12:48 p.m._

_Albus Dumbledore's Office, Hogwarts School_

Albus sat patiently behind his desk, glancing up at the grandfather clock leaning against the wall. Two minutes. Just two more minutes. According to Kingsley, he was very prompt, showing up exactly ten minutes early, no matter the appointment.

"His parents were muggle military," the bald wizard had said. "He didn't enlist, but he was brought up with the belief that it's better to hurry up and wait than to wait and be late."

An admirable concept.

He consulted the letter in front of him, typed and printed on what the muggles called a "computer". The lettering was impossibly neat, even moreso than the magical printing presses the Prophet used, and the paper was light and crisp compared to the heavy parchment typically used by witches and wizards in England.

The Magical United States had developed significantly differently than wizarding England. Muggle technology was as much a part of their society as magic, due to the fact that the first magic users in the Colonies were muggle-borns who "wanted to get away from notions of blood superiority and wizard elitism", as it said in the book _The Early Days of Magic in the 13 Colonies_, which happened to be open on Albus's desk.

A flash of green in Albus's fireplace brought him from his thoughts, and he stood, making his way to his hearth, where a spinning figure materialized in the green flames, slowing to a stop before he stepped out, dusting soot from his clothing.

"Hate Floo travel," the young man muttered with an American accent, shaking his mop of black hair and turning brown eyes behind thick black glasses up to Albus, reaching out a hand. "Leon Mason," he introduced himself. "Good to meet ya."

Albus took his hand and shook it with a smile. His grip was firm, but not strong, and he was a bit stringy, his hooded sweatshirt (black with an unfamiliar band logo on it) and blue jeans loose around his frame. His skin was pale, too, like he hadn't seen a lot of sunlight in his life.

"Albus Dumbledore," he said, forgoing the lengthy name; there was business to attend to. "I thank you for coming."

"No problem," Leon said, surveying Albus's office. "Wow. I've never seen magical Europe before. I've heard that it was a bit…dated."

"Compared to the United States, I suppose that's true," Albus said. "That's why you're here, though, Mister Mason."

"Well, it's good that you wanna finally do something about the bad reputation you European schools have back in the States," Leon said with a smile. "I mean, don't get me wrong, Hogwarts is an amazing place. I've always wanted to visit. But some of your safety standards are a bit lax."

"Then let us begin," Albus said, moving to sit back behind his desk and motion for Leon to sit on the other side.

…

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Hermione said as the couple leaned on a railing overlooking the Canal Saint-Martin. Harry nodded, watching as a barge drifted by in the distance. Nearby, Dan and Emma were scouting out a good restaurant to get some lunch, Emma hinting not-so-subtly that the pair should hang back and "rest". Currently, Hermione was shoulder to shoulder with Harry, their hands entwined on the railing between them.

"So…are we going to talk about…this?" Hermione finally said, giving their clasped hands a small shake, and Harry looked over at her, confused.

"Talk about…holding hands?" he asked. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, you're as bad as Ronald sometimes," she said, but she gave him a small smile. "I'm talking about…us. I mean, we've been snogging and holding hands and…I really like you…." She turned pink, and Harry felt a leaping sensation in his chest as she looked sidelong at him.

"I…like you, too," he said, smiling back. Hermione rested her head on his shoulder.

"Does this make you my boyfriend?" she asked quietly. Harry's face heated up as he nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "Long as you'll be my girlfriend."

She giggled. "Deal."

…

"So, then," Harold said, trying to speak through his laughter, "James spots Sirius with a tail and starts running after him, trying to pull the thing, but he doesn't know at this time he's got a great set of horns sticking out of his head! He runs under a low tree branch, and his legs fly up, lands flat on his back!"

Harry burst out laughing, and Hermione giggled into her glass of sparkling grape juice (absolutely alcohol free, Ringo insisted), taking a sip and setting her glass down, only to have it promptly refilled by the elf, who was proving to be quite the adept host.

"Would Miss Granger like more tenderloin?" he asked, glancing up at Hermione with a smile. Hermione felt herself hiccup a bit and shook her head.

"I'm stuffed, Ringo, but thank you," she said, giving the elf a small pat between his floppy ears. "You're quite the chef."

Ringo gave her a huge smile. "Ringo has always loved cooking more than anything!" he said enthusiastically, bowing deeply. "Ringo will return with dessert. Miss Granger must try some!"

Before Hermione could even respond, the elf was gone in a snap, and Hermione turned to find Harry now laughing himself to tears, leaning against Hermione's mum to support himself, though she was leaning right back against him giggling hysterically. Across the table, her father was chuckling into his wineglass, giving a great snort as he set the glass down. Seconds later, Ringo popped back with a giant concoction of ice cream, brownies, whipped topping, caramel, and pretty much every other sweet Hermione had seen in her life.

"Haha, the legendary Brownie Glacier!" Harold said eyeing the dish with a smirk. "That recipe's been passed down in Ringo's family for generations, with some tweaks here and there. I don't recall the chocolate bust of Tolkien from my day."

"He is a great author!" Ringo insisted.

It had been decided that the family would spend the rest of their vacation in the manor (to which Dan and Emma had no objections), and Ringo was sent to the hotel in a human guise to cancel their room and bring their baggage. Meanwhile, the quartet had continued to get lost in Paris, checking out art galleries, museums, historical sites (magical and muggle), and doing a _lot_ of walking. They returned home that evening to find Ringo with a full spread of flawlessly prepared French cuisine for them to try, and Harold had taken up a spot on a sofa in a finely detailed oil painting of his own grandmother as a child (she still chided him on his posture) to provide the evening's entertainment in the form of every story he could recall of the Marauders' visits to the manor.

"That Sirius sounds like a riot," Dan said once the group had calmed down. "He and James were very close, then?"

"Like brothers," Harold said with a nod. "All four of them were inseparable, of course, but James and Sirius…. Never met two lads closer than them. It got to the point where they would complete each other's sentences, communicate without speaking. Sirius was your father's best man at the wedding, and he was…is your godfather."

Harry's eyes widened, and he looked to Hermione, who smiled.

"We'll have to write him or something," she said, and Harry nodded.

"Ringo?" he asked, and the elf was at his side at the once. "Can you get me a quill and parchment?"

"Of course, Master Harry," Ringo said, nodding vigorously and cracking away.

Roughly an hour later saw Hedwig wing her way out of the manor, bound for wherever Sirius Black may be. Hermione insisted that post owls _always_ found their target, and Harry need not worry, but that didn't stop him from spending a restless night glancing back toward his window, hoping that out there, his godfather might find the letter and realize this his godson wanted to know him and his father's other friends.

…

"Wow, wait, so there are werewolves, acromantulas, and I know centaurs are usually fairly decent, but Britain's been cracking down on them from what I hear," Leon said as the two strolled along the edge of the forest.

"Yes, we boast quite a variety of creatures in the Forbidden Forest," Albus replied.

"That, right there," Leon said. "Forbidden Forest. That doesn't tell a kid, 'Stay away.'. That says, 'I'm a dark forest full of dangerous stuff, but it'll be so awesome!'. You wanna keep 'em away, put up a fence or a wall. With, like…all kinds of repelling charms and stuff. And think about changing the name."

"Interesting," Albus said, watching as Leon scrawled in his notebook. "This is a muggle means of writing?"

"Yeah," Leon said, holding up what looked like a wand made out of plastic. "Mechanical pencil. Never needs sharpening."

"Fascinating. And the notebook is so much more compact," Albus observed. You would need a whole bag of parchment. Is this in use in all of the schools in the United States?"

"Of course," Leon said. "Magic and non-magic. Parchment and quills are unheard of outside of the old magic societies like my granddad's in. And I know McGildenhurst Academy has something like a quill and parchment unit in their History course."

"I suppose Britain's magical community is a little behind," Albus admitted.

"Most of Europe seems to be behind the times," Leon said as the pair made their way back to the castle, a light mist beginning to pour on them. Leon pulled out a wand gave it a small wave, conjuring an umbrella large enough for the two. "Honestly, it's a bit of a stereotype among us back home. Once, during spirit week at the academy, Wednesday was 'European Wizard Day'. Everyone showed up looking like a Renaissance fair."

Albus chuckled as they reached the castle, and Leon sent his umbrella away. The old man turned to the younger wizard with a somber look, though.

"I do understand that you are being serious," he said, "and I thank you for your advice. I'm only a little disheartened that it took Harry's threatening to leave before I realized that something had to be done."

"You're pretty attached to that kid," Leon said. "Something important riding on him or something?"

Albus sighed, giving a small nod. "Quite a bit." He glanced up as Minerva strode down a nearby staircase and hurried across the hall to him. "Minerva, is something wrong?"

"Albus," she said, holding out a letter. "Sirius Black. He's escaped."

…

_June 30, 1993_

_8:57 p.m._

_Somewhere in London, England_

Under a rapidly darkening sky in the foggy streets of London, a giant black dog padded through a back alley, nose pressed to the ground as he sniffled along the pavement, eventually stopping behind a building and rooting through some bags. His ears perked up as the creaking of a door opening broke the silence nearby, followed shortly by a loud gasp.

"Oh, bloody hell," a female voice said, and the dog stared up at her, a slight figure standing in a doorway. Beyond her, the dog's keen senses picked up the sounds of chatter and cutlery clinking together, and a mouthwatering blend of professionally prepared food.

"You scared the piss out of me, dog," the woman said, walking over and tossing a bag into the garbage. "I reckon you're hungry, then?"

In response, the dog only whined, and the woman gave him a smile.

"Hold on," she said, backing into the doorway. "Lemme see what I've got in here."

She disappeared into the doorway, and the dog's tail began to wag as she returned with a huge bowl of scraps and another of water, setting them in front of the dog.

"There you are," she said, and the dog dug in immediately, tail wagging vigorously. The woman let a chuckle, gently scratching the mutt across the nose. "Chow down, then. I need to work."

Standing the woman gave the dog a kind smile before disappearing into the restaurant again, shutting the door behind her. The dog emptied both bowls, lifting a leg on the dumpster for good measure before clicking off down the alley, hopping up onto his hind legs before his shape distorted and stretched, and in seconds, a skeleton of a man stood in the alley, giving a small belch as he leaned against the wall, staring out at the nearby road with deep-set eyes, looking back in the direction of the restaurant.

"Cute," he said, his voice hoarse from disuse. "Too young."

He heaved a sigh, staring up at the starlit sky, squinting, wishing he was one of those types that could discern where he was just from the position of the stars. But, no, he would need to swipe a map somewhere. Surely there was a petrol station nearby that would have a map to at least point him in the general direction of Scotland. He'd worry about details later.

Quite suddenly, he spotted a white blur out of the corner of his eye, and a letter was dropped onto the top of his head before a clacking of talons nearby told him that a white owl had just alighted on a nearby rubbish bin.

"And who are you?" Sirius asked the owl, his brow furrowing. "I'm supposed to be warded against owls, except…from…."

He hastily snatched the envelope from his head and tore it open, reading it by the light of a nearby streetlamp.

_Dear Sirius,_

_Hello. This is Harry Potter, James and Lily's son. You're my godfather, I just found out. I'm not really sure how to go about writing this, but I just found out that I'm legally an adult in the wizard world, and I have a bunch of houses and mansions and stuff. I'm in the one in France right now, that you and my dad and Wormtail and Moony visited all the time! It's brilliant! Harold Pendleton, my great-great uncle or something, has been telling me about you and the Marauders. It's been so great!_

_I'd like to see you. You're welcome to come visit any time you want. I know France may be quite a trip from wherever you are, but you could come see Ringo, and you could bring Moony and Wormtail. I'm holidaying in France with my girlfriend and her family, and I'd like you all to meet her. And I'd like to hear more about my parents. My mum's family, the Dursleys, weren't the nicest sort of folk, so I've never heard anything about Mum and Dad. I was hoping you could tell me more._

_Please write back if you want to come visit. I've told my owl, Hedwig, to wait on you._

_Harry_

Sirius was now blinking back tears as he folded the letter and stuffed it in his pocket, glancing at the owl.

"You're lucky they didn't nab you on your way out here," he said. "I suppose they weren't expecting Harry to send a letter to me of all people. Even so, I'm not risking it. I'll find my own owl. You fly on back to him."

The owl gave him a wide-eyed stare and flew off, leaving the skeletal man with an unexpected choice. He'd expected to be demonized, that his godson wouldn't want anything to do with him, would even hate him. From his letter, though, it was as though he didn't even know about Sirius's stay in Azkaban, or the lie everyone took as the real story. He even believed Wormtail to still be alive (which was true, admittedly) and looked forward to meeting them all. Sirius remembered well the summers spent at James's summer home, blinking back fresh tears at the ache the reminiscence caused him.

Maybe revenge could wait. He needed to visit his godson.

* * *

Tada.

Ringo the baritone house-elf. Yeeaah.

And I imagine that, as much as Hermione reads, she probably doesn't know a bunch about current events, so she may not even have read about the whole Sirius Black incident, and we know Harry's never heard of him. Throw in the fact that the occupants of his French manor had no reason (or indeed, much ability) to leave and no visitors, and none of them would even be aware of the whole Azkaban situation.

And yes, the return of Leon Mason, who is now not a sword-wielding agro-mage, but a normal wizard who works in an American school and is a licensed safety inspector after he took some summer courses. Some favors were called in, I suppose. Some of you could call him a shameless author-insert, but that is totally untrue. I have brown hair.

Reviews are appreciated, of course, and I will hasten to correct any grammar/spelling/continuity mistakes I may have missed. Constructive criticisms will be duly noted, especially in regards to Mister Mason. I would love to avoid turning him into a Gary-Stu; I'll be the first to admit that he quite toed the line last time he was utilized.


	6. Chapter 6

FYI: If you don't like my story because my opinion and/or personal interpretation of canon is different from yours, feel free to keep your remarks to yourself and read another story. Leaving a review to the effect of "I hate your story because you're wrong" is a waste of my time and yours.

Moving on!

AMG, new chapter in _less_ than four months. Surely this is a dream. Or a nightmare, I guess, if you hate my story and are some kind of masochist. Or would that turn right back around and make it a dream.

Anyway, read the chapter.

…

_July 4, 1993_

_2:43 p.m._

_Dumbledore's Office, Hogwarts School  
_

"_It's been a week since notorious mass-murderer Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban Prison, previously believed inescapable in large part due to its guards, the dementors. Black's methods remain a mystery, as do his whereabouts. The Ministry of Magic is offering a reward for any information leading to his capture, but witches and wizards are advised not to confront Black, as he is believed mentally unstable and extremely dangerous. For more information, please consult the pamphlet sent to your homes.…"_

Albus waved his wand at the wireless to lower the volume, sighing heavily as he stared at the picture in front of him. In it, James Potter, his newlywed wife, and Sirius Black were standing clustered together, Sirius ruffling James's hair.

"_I still can't believe ickle Prongsie's gone and got married to Lily bloody Evans!"_

He allowed himself a small sad smile before sitting back in his chair. There was nothing to be done but allow the aurors to do their job and stop Black before he could do any harm. Thankfully, they had one edge; Sirius had no idea that Harry was in France at this very moment, nor did anyone else outside of himself, Minerva, and Kingsley. The Weasleys were a possibility, but they were planning a trip to Egypt, according to Kingsley, and Black was very unlikely to reach them anyway.

No, the best thing right now was to keep tabs on Harry and make Hogwarts suitable for his return.

On that note, he stared down at the stack of notebook paper sitting on his desk, no less than a dozen sheets filled with suggestions from Mr. Mason, who had departed the morning after his visit after a rather long dinner discussion in which the young teacher outlined the importance of always, always, being willing to admit that you may have made a mistake.

"I won't lie; the whole thing with the philosopher's stone?" the young man had said. "I read about that one in some international paper a couple years ago. You took one of the most powerful magical artifacts ever known, something that even non-magic people have heard of, and you stuck it in a school full of adolescent magic-users behind some kind of obstacle course? That aside, no matter what your plans for it were, it was put in a school full of kids. You thought it was safe at Gringotts, but it wasn't. Why would that change here?"

"Hogwarts is considered one of the safest places in the world," Albus had replied, the words long-rehearsed from his hearing them so often.

"For kids," Leon said. "For a _school_. Not some magic game-breaker that someone dangerous enough to break into the _second-safest _ place on the planet is after. Even if you wanted to put it here for whatever reason, don't stick the entrance in a frequently-travelled place in the school. Put some giant tunnel under the lake or something."

"Perhaps you're right," was all Albus had been able to reply with. "I will admit that I've made some mistakes in the past, mistakes that have cost lives, mistakes that may have alienated a large amount of my student body. Apparently, these past couple years have seen the lowest retention rate of muggle-born students, with ninety percent of them withdrawing after the parents heard about the troll or the philosopher's stone. And the basilisk."

Shaking his head, Leon had simply raised his glass to his lips, taking a sip of wine. "Parents send their kids off to a strange school that's part of world they've just learned about, and the first thing they hear of is trolls attacking the students and an evil dictator infiltrating the school as a teacher. Or the kid spent the last month or two of their education as a statue. Of course, to be fair, some of that can only be accounted for by bad luck, but I'd pull my kids, too, if I had any."

Before his departure, Leon had also offered one last bit of advice. "At McGildenhurst, the principal has a small committee appointed with the express purpose of questioning his every decision, down to repainting the locker rooms. These are people he trusts completely. If he can't justify his decision to every single one of them, it doesn't happen. Maybe you need one of those as well."

As if in response to his thoughts, a knock sounded on the office door, and the headmaster pulled himself from his thoughts and stood, picking up the list. "Enter."

The door opened, and in strode Minerva, Filius, Severus, and Pomona, all of them crossing the room and stopping in front of his desk. "Ah, welcome everyone. You are, perhaps, wondering why I summoned you here."

The four nodded, and Minerva replied, "There is something you need of us?"

Rounding his desk, Dumbledore sighed. "I've gathered you all because I trust your judgment," he said, pikcing up the stack of papers and passing them to Severus, who studied it with a raised eyebrow.

"I see the American has been," he said. "He certainly had a lot to say."

"We must trust his opinions," Albus said. "Not only is he a licensed safety inspector in his own country, but he seemed to me to be a rather sensible young man, albeit somewhat verbose."

"'Remove the whomping willow'?" Minerva asked, peering over Severus's shoulder at the list. "It's been on the grounds for years. Students know full well to stay away from it."

"Ah, that was what I told Mr. Mason," Albus said. "However, he told me that it is better to remove the opportunity for danger than to attempt to dissuade students from taking it. Remus will be provided the necessary accommodations for his needs, so the passage no longer needs to be private. Mr. Mason even suggested collapsing the tunnel to prevent any sneaking out by the savvier students. The Weasley twins spring to mind."

"He wants us to 'do a better job at screening new teachers'," Filius said. "And to fire Professor Binns! Is that even possible!"

"I'm not sure how that fits into the realm of a safety inspector's jurisdiction," Severus muttered dryly, staring down at the list.

"No, see, he wrote next to it," Minerva said. "'Just a suggestion.'"

"I have received quite a few complaints from my students," Pomona said, speaking up for the first time. "When I ask them why their History grades are slipping, they say that it's just impossible to stay awake during Binns's class."

"Perhaps we'll have to have Minerva sit in on one of his classes to evaluate if any action is needed," Albus said, reaching into a pocket of his robes and withdrawing a muggle pen and a spare piece of parchment, making a note before glancing back up at his staff. "Have the students voiced any other complaints?"

All four teachers glanced up as one.

"More than a few," Filius replied.

…

Emma Granger was experiencing some minor flashbacks as she stared at the pile of pamphlets in front of her (which Hermione had had to tap with her wand just for her to be able to look at), each one detailing a potential school of magic. They had gone through a similar process when looking for a nice private school to send her to before her Hogwarts letter had come. Now, though, the pamphlets boasted things such as "a recently updated Muggle Studies curriculum" and "a five-time award-winning Charms course".

"There's one nearby," Dan said, poking a pamphlet as he passed his wife on the way to the fridge. "Beauxbatons. It's a boarding school just like Hogwarts, so we wouldn't have to worry about a commute."

"But it's a French school," Emma countered. "Hermione knows a little French from her primary days, but I doubt Harry knows any at all. And I doubt they could learn much in a few weeks."

"What about this Durmstrang?" Dan said, now popping the tab on some French beer he couldn't even pronounce. "Pretty far north, but – "

"No," Emma interrupted. "They're even worse than England with this 'blood superiority' of theirs. They don't even accept muggle-born students."

"I don't know, honey," Dan grumbled, sitting down in the seat. "Do you remember last year, when we went with Hermione to Diagon Alley? That blonde man looked at us like we were the scum of the earth. And that Weasley bloke was nice enough, but he treated us like some primitive cave people. Like we were just some attraction at a zoo."

Emma nodded. "I remember," she said. "Hermione told us that a lot of wizards feel that way, apparently."

"Then do we want our little girl brought up in a society where half of the people she runs into would sooner have her turned to stone or killed just because we aren't magic?"

Emma shook her head. "She loves it, though. She loves using magic and learning about it. You saw her the other day, when we talked about pulling her from Hogwarts. I'd love to pull her out and just have her go to a normal school, live a normal life. But she wants this."

She looked up to see her husband staring ponderously at another pamphlet. "What about this one? McGildenhurst Academy of Magic? It's American, but at least there won't be a language barrier. Culture shock, at worst. And look here; it was 'founded by a wizard of non-magic parentage'."

"Is it just that school, though?" Emma asked. "What's America's magical side like, anyway?"

"We'll have to ask Hermione," Dan asked.

"Wait," Emma asked, pointing at the pamphlet. "There's a phone number. Does this place have a phone?" she glanced around the kitchen where the pair were sitting, listening to the sounds of the two kids playing in the pool.

"Ask the elf," Dan said. "Ringo?"

There was a crack, and the pair jumped as Ringo popped into the room.

"Mister Granger needs something from Ringo?" he asked, bowing deeply. Dan smiled down at the elf, taking another drink of his beer.

"Does this place have a phone?" he asked, nodding at the pamphlet. "We need to call this school."

"Master James had a phone installed in his seventh year to call Miss Lily!" the elf said, cracking away and returning with a cordless phone, passing it to Dan, who glanced at the pamphlet.

"It's an international, call," he said. "Liable to be pretty expensive."

"I suppose we should at least okay it with Harry first," Emma said with a nod. "Ringo, could you go see if Harry can come in here?"

"Of course, Mrs. Granger," Ringo said with a nod, cracking away. Moments later, Harry and Hermione trotted into the kitchen, Harry biting at a sandwich, both wrapped in fluffy white towels.

"What's the matter, Mum?" Hermione said, glancing at the pamphlets. "Oh."

"We're just looking at options, dear," Emma said. "What do you know about America's wizard society?"

"I know they're a lot more muggle-friendly," Hermione said. "Wizard society in America developed right alongside the muggles, so they share a lot of the same technology and social customs. Most of the first wizards in America sailed over from England to get away from pureblood supremacy and restrictive laws."

"I think maybe we should follow their lead," Dan said. "We were going to give them a call, but it's international, so we wanted to make sure it was okay with Harry."

"Sure," Harry said, sitting down at the table and polishing off his sandwich. "I think my bank account can handle it."

Hermione and Emma giggled, Dan giving the boy a smirk before dialing the number and placing the phone to his ear.

They picked up on the second ring.

"McGildenhurst Central School, this is Charlotte. How may I help you?"

"Yes, hello. My name is Dan Granger, and I was hoping for a bit more information on your school. I'm considering transferring my daughter from Hogwarts."

"Ugh," Charlotte made a noise on the other end. "I don't blame ya. Non-magic parents?"

"Yes, ma'am," Dan said. "We're none too happy with this country's magic side."

"Again, don't blame ya," Charlotte said. "We can send you a course guide, a few more pamphlets about our history and mission statement, and I can throw in some local guides, if you want to consider nearby housing. We aren't a boarding school, but several apartment buildings nearby offer student discounts during the school year. Of course, we also have a daily portkey, but those are more for students in the same time zone."

Pleased that the only odd word out was "portkey", Dan gave his wife a small nod. "We'd greatly appreciate that. Do you need an address?"

"Yes, sir."

Ringo held up a piece of paper with the manor's address on it, and Dan recited it into the phone. Contrary to his expectations, the woman made no mention at all of Harry Potter's name. Perhaps he wasn't as well-known in America as in England. He'd probably love to hear that.

"M'kay, we'll send you the information immediately sir," Charlotte said. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No, that should be all," Dan said.

"Okay," Charlotte said. "If you have any other questions, don't hesitate to call, and we hope you'll consider us for your daughter's transfer."

"Thank you very much," Dan said.

"No problem. Have a wonderful day, sir."

"Goodbye," Dan said, hanging the phone up and smiling at his wife. "I like them."

…

Meanwhile, on a lone road winding through the French countryside, a large black dog ambled through the grass, clutching a map in his mouth, which he would occasionally stop and stare at, looking up at his surroundings before picking the weathered paper up and trudging back along, glad that there were very few cars around; Merlin knew just how odd the sight would look.

Stopping again, the dog raised its head as a light breeze picked up, nose flaring as he sniffed at the air, making a small noise of delight and dropping to the grass and rolling excitedly in the soft green lushness. Letting a few happy yips, the dog righted himself again, hopping to catch the map before it blew away in the breeze, picking up his pace to a small trot. In the distance, his muddled dog vision could just make out the beginnings of society.

Close. He was so close.

…

"So, what do you wanna do for your birthday?" Hermione asked in a quiet voice as the two floated around his pool on inflatable rafts, Hermione sunning her back, Harry idly kicking his feet in the water.

"My birthday's not for weeks," Harry said with a grin, and Hermione giggled, reaching out and pulling him closer, shifting to place a small kiss to his lips.

"So?" she asked, and Harry rolled his eyes, trailing a finger down her jaw. "I want it to be a good one. I…don't imagine you've had many."

Harry shrugged, nodding. "That's true. I dunno, maybe we could invite Ron out. And…I guess I'd really like the Marauders to get in touch with me. I think it'd be a great party if they came by."

Hermione giggled. "If they're as rambunctious as they were, it'd be quite a party."

They both laughed as a crack near the deck announced Ringo's arrival.

"Sandwiches!" he called, and Harry leapt into the water, surging toward the edge of the pool while a giggling Hermione gently waded her raft after him. Harry climbed from the pool, and Ringo passed him a fluffy white towel. Hermione noted with a giggle that it was monogramed with an ornate emerald H, and Ringo was holding a similar towel with a bronze H etched into it.

"Thank you, Ringo," Hermione said, gratefully accepting the towel. Ringo smiled up at Hermione, pushing his mop of hair from his eyes.

"Ringo is honored to serve Master Potter's betrothed!"

Harry coughed as he took a bite of his sandwich, and Hermione let a small squeak into her towel as she dried her face.

"Ringo!" Harry said sharply. "Hermione's not my…betrothed. She's my girlfriend. We're only twelve.

"Well, I'm thirteen, but even so, that's still much too young for marriage talk," Hermione said with a nervous giggle. "Maybe someday, but…."

Harry smiled at her. "Yeah, maybe someday," he echoed.

Ringo looked a bit confused. "But Master Harry is an adult now. As the Head of the House of Potter, he needs to at least start thinking about choosing a wife to continue the family line – "

"Ringo!" Harry said again, blushing red as a tomato. "Please, for goodness's sake, let's stop talking about marriage and…continuing the family line."

Ringo's ears dropped, and his great brown eyes widened a bit. "Ringo has offended Master Potter? Ringo is sorry."

He gave the elf a pat on the head. "It's alright, Ringo. And I'm glad you're looking out for me. But I'd like to enjoy being a kid before I worry about all that stuff."

Ringo smiled, nodding. "Of course, Master Harry," he said with a deep bow. "Will Master Harry require anything else?"

"Drinks?" he asked, looking to Hermione, who nodded, grabbing a sandwich of her own.

"More of that sparkling grape juice, please," she said. "That was wonderful."

"Of course, Miss Granger!" Ringo replied with a bow, looking to Harry, who nodded.

"How about some cider? Uncle Harold mentioned something about a cellar full of it."

"Yes, the Potters have several orchards all over Europe," Ringo nodded. "Ringo will be right back!"

The elf disappeared with another crack, and Harry slumped onto his chair, smiling sheepishly over at Hermione.

"Sorry about all that marriage talk," he said. "Uncle Harold warned me about that the other day. Said since I'm adult, I can actually get married any time I want."

Hermione smiled, still a little pink, and settled into her own deck chair. "No, it's okay. I think Dad would explode if he heard that kind of talk, though. Don't get me wrong, he thinks you're great, but…."

"Young."

"Yes, much too young. I think I'd like to graduate before I'm Mrs. Potter."

Hearing that, Harry felt his heart skip for a myriad of reasons, but he only nodded. "Agreed."

"Still, though, you're an adult as far as the wizard world is concerned," Hermione said. "I guess you don't even _need_ to go back to school."

Harry chuckled. "Two years of magical education probably won't get me far. Though, since I'm sitting on a large fortune, I could just be a lazy rich bum for the rest of my life."

Hermione giggled, rolling her eyes. "Harry James Potter, you'll do no such thing. If I have to drag you off your behind, I will, and you know it. My point, though, is this. If Dumbledore tries anything like claiming guardianship over you to get you back to Hogwarts, now you have an airtight defense."

"Yeah, right," Harry muttered. "Fat lot of good he did guarding me."

Hermione leaned in to hug him, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Well, now you can guard yourself," she giggled, nodding as Ringo snapped back to them. "Or Ringo could. He'd be a great guardian."

Hearing the last part, the elf set his tray of drinks on a nearby table and seemed to snap to attention. "I would lay my life on the line for Master Harry!" he said. "Any of his elves would!"

"'Elves'?" Harry asked. "I have more?"

Ringo nodded, closing his eyes for a moment before the air was filled with various loud cracking sounds, and no less than a dozen house elves appeared in front of Harry, several of them still toting brooms or feather dusters, one holding a half-polished silver goblet in her hands. More than a couple of the elves looked quite withered, but they still stubbornly stood as straight as they could.

"Oh."

As one, the squad of elves bowed. Each of them was wearing the same ornate pillow case embroidered with the Potter family crest, Harry noted.

"Wow, Harry," Hermione breathed. "You have your own little army."

"Um…hello," Harry gave the elves a wave.

"Good afternoon, Master Harry," they said in unison, a few outlying deep or scratchy voices lacing the chorus of squeaks.

"So…thanks," Harry said, glancing at Hermione with wide eyes. "Thanks for keeping all of my houses clean. Sorry it might take me some time to figure all your names out."

"It's quite alright, Master Harry!" one female elf squeaked, looking adoringly at Harry as the group clustered around him.

"What if you had them wear nametags?" Hermione suggested, shrugging.

"Not a bad idea," he mused, looking down at the elves before deciding to kneel amidst them as the crowded around him. "You lot could wear name tags for me, right? Help me figure out what to call you?"

"Of course, Master Harry!"

"We would be happy to!"

"Bertram is already wearing one!"

Feeling a little like Dorothy in Munchkinland, Harry gave the mob of elves another nervous smile. "Alright, well, if you lot ever want anything, just ask. And, if you find something you think I should know about, let me know, too. But…you know, you can go back to whatever you were doing before."

"Yes, Master Harry!" the elves chorused before disappearing in the same series of cracks.

"Odd bunch," Harry muttered, settling back into his chair.

…

For probably the fourth day in a row, Sirius's face stared back at Remus as he walked along Diagon Alley, the wanted posters plastering seemingly every square inch of empty space along the walls. Really, he mused, what was the point of papering an entire wall with the things when someone was just as likely to see a single one?

Again, as it had seemingly every moment since he had first heard of Sirius's escape, the familiar stab of guilt shot through Remus.

"_Hey, you lot! I've got an idea! Folks like Remus are harmless against animagi, right?"_

But, he reasoned with himself, what good would it do to tell them? How many great black dogs were there in the world? All that would do was have them jumping at every stray mongrel they saw.

"_I will have you know that Padfoot is a purebred. Dunno what breed, but he is!"_

He shook his head. He'd long ago dissociated the two, kept pure the memories of his best friend, denied that he and the "notorious mass-murderer" could even be one and the same.

"_The Marauders. Catchy, eh? Four lads, loyal to no one but themselves and each other. With Padfoot, the dashing rogue, as their fearless leader."_

He couldn't stop a small snicker. Prongs had sure objected to that last bit.

He blinked, realizing that his vision was a bit blurry. It was only when he felt the warm wetness trickle down his cheek that he realized the truth. Damn it. He wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve, shaking himself. He couldn't walk into Gringotts blubbering like a baby.

"_C'mon, Moony, don't be like that. Girls like sensitive guys, but you've already got that part without the tears."_

He stopped, realizing he'd walked by Madame Malkin's. Dumbledore had kindly agreed to pay his first check in advance, meaning he wouldn't have to go to his first day at work in the robes with different colored sleeves. He stepped inside, attempting to chase all thoughts of Sirius from his mind, failing miserably when Madame Malkin turned out to have decorated her wall with a couple of wanted posters as well. Was the second one meant to reinforce the first, commit it to long-term memory or something?

Again, he stared at the poster, watching Sirius toting his sign, glaring at the camera. The picture had been taken quite recently, during his quarterly evaluation. He was barely recognizable as Remus's former friend, the sunken face and ragged hair a far cry from the fresh-faced grin and shoulder-length tresses that had made more than one Hogwarts witch swoon.

"_Lather, rinse, repeat, Wormtail. Then they fawn, they swoon, they want to touch the hair. Especially when you flip it like this."_

"The very picture of a demon, that one," Madame Malkin said, startling Remus. "I remember fitting him with his first set of Hogwarts robes, clear as day. Tragic, though. Only goes to show how far you can fall, hm?"

"Yeah," Remus said, his voice hoarse. "Tragic."

"_I'm telling you, lads, one day we'll be old and gray, just four crazy old coots sitting on a beach somewhere, and these'll be the days we'll reminisce about."_

…

Okay, next chapter will see Sirius's arrival at the Potter manor, but dang it, it's a long walk from London to Paris, and he can't exactly just hop a jet, can he?

As ever, reviews are appreciated, as well as a good nag or two about completing the next chapter. For dissenters, please see the first few sentences of my beginning author note.

Ta.


	7. Chapter 7

Okay, so people are telling me that it is impossible to walk from London to Paris. I was going to go with the fact that there's apparently some kind of tunnel (GoogleMaps), but that apparently would not have been built in '93.

So, here goes:

Sirius, pondering his misfortune upon reaching the English channel (or _La Manche_) happened to notice that there were several ferries making the crossing. Using magical feats (most probably with a stolen wand), he found his way onto one of these ferries and hid in the bathroom until the ferry reached the other side. Using further magical feats, he provided a distraction in the form of a compulsion charm cast upon a university lad and his three friends, who immediately provided a stunning rendition of Moonlight Bay for departing passengers, allowing Sirius to slip off of the ferry with none the wiser to his subterfuge and skullduggery.

Thank you, and I hope this addressed any concerns.

Moving on!

* * *

_July 7, 1993_

_4:54 p.m._

_Potter Manor, Paris, France_

"I'm a lord?"

"Indeed," replied Harold.

"So, what's that mean?" Harry asked, confused. "Like, what do I have to do?"

"Not much, actually," Harold answered with a thoughtful look, "though there are some social protocols to follow when you're out in your official capacity. And a few old laws that are probably best observed before others try to take advantage of them. Mind, they wouldn't really apply across the pond, but I don't think you want to pull out the roots when you head over there, right?"

"No, not at all," Harry said. "There's a lot that I don't like about wizard England, but it's still home."

"Well, I was never actually a head of the Potter family," Harold said. "That was my brother-in-law, Caius. But, I do know a lot about being one, and so does Charlus here," Harold said, planting a hand on the boy who shared his portrait. "After his uncle died, Charlus was lord until his boy, Gregory, came of age."

"Good kid," said the boy; Harry made no comment, but met Hermione's gaze with raised eyebrows.

"Now, most of the old laws have fallen into disuse," Harold said. "But marriage laws, honor duels, some of it's still trotted out from time to time, so it's good to know, especially for you. The Potters are an old, old, wizard family. They can be traced all the way back to the Peverells, one of the oldest lines known to our society. As such, the Potter name carries a lot of weight in some circles."

"So, I need to be tough enough to carry that weight," Harry concluded.

"Exactly!" Harold said, grinning at Harry. "Now, I won't lie, from what you've told me you know, Hogwarts has really gone downhill in the teaching department since your mum and dad and his mates went there. So, we'll be teaching you some magic in addition to learning how to be a lord. That way, when you go to that American school, you can show them what kind of stock you come from."

"Is there a lot to know about being a…lord?"

"Like I said, most of the laws have fallen out of style, but that doesn't mean they haven't been written out of the books," Harold said. "And believe me, these political types will be happy to pull out a law that hasn't been observed in decades if it's to their benefit. That's where you come along with another law – "

"And trump them," Hermione finished.

"Brilliant," Harry said with a smirk. "Something like my dad would do?"

"_Exactly_ what your dad would do," Harold replied, mirroring Harry's smirk. "So, I've sent Ringo into town to grab some law books. I understand, though, you've met your other elves?"

"Yeah, I've about a dozen of them," Harry said, shaking his head. "It's mad."

"A lot of old families have elves in the double digits," Harold told him. "You should utilize them, though. When you don't have them doing something, their only default task is to keep the house tidy. If you want them to fix it up, put up new drapes or buy new furniture, you have to ask them. Another thing a lord needs is a few backup houses if he needs to make himself scarce for a while."

"Got it," Harry said, and Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Um…Macca, was it?"

There was a crack, and a different elf popped up, this one a little taller than Ringo but with a similar haircut. His nose wasn't nearly as prominent, and he had a smooth baby-face framed by drooping ears.

"Master Harry's betrothed has called?" the elf said. His voice was higher than Ringo's but smooth and almost musical as he spoke.

"I'm not his betrothed," Hermione said, kneeling in front of the elf and smiling at him. "Would you bring a notebook and a pencil?"

"Of course, Master Harry's not-betrothed!" Macca said, popping away.

"I'm beginning to think all house-elves are like that," Harry muttered, and Harold chortled as Macca popped back in toting a notebook and a plain wooden pencil, sharpened perfectly to a point, handing them to Hermione.

"Thank you, Macca," Hermione said, giving the elf a grateful pat.

"Which house is yours, Macca?" Harry asked. "I mean, which one do you watch over?"

"Macca is in charge of Master Potter's Suffolk home," the elf answered with a bow. "Macca has kept it meticulously clean!"

"Um, thanks," Harry said. "I might call you later to go have a look at the house. That okay?"

"Of course, Master Harry!" Macca said with a bright smile. "Master Harry needs only ask, and Macca will escort him to his home in an instant!"

"Thanks, Macca," Harry said. "My schedule's a little full right now, but I'll definitely call on you again soon."

At that moment, Ringo popped back, his arms laden almost two feet over the top of his head with books.

"Ringo has found Master Harry's – Macca!"

"Ringo!" Macca helped Ringo set the books neatly on the ground, and the two elves shared a hug. "It's been years!"

"Ringo spotted you the other day but did not want to speak out of turn!" Ringo said back, patting his elf companion on the back as the separated. He glanced up at Harry, who probably looked as confused as he felt. "Master Harry, Macca is Ringo's brother!"

"Oh!" Harry said, grinning at the pair. "I didn't know house-elves…could have siblings…" he trailed off.

"There are four of us, Master Harry, sir!" Macca replied. "But…the other two…they are gone…."

"Oh," Hermione said softly, kneeling as well and placing a hand on Macca's shoulder. "I'm so sorry to hear that, Macca."

Macca smiled up at her. "Master Harry's not-betrothed is nice!" he said with a huge grin. "We will see them again, though."

"That's a great way of looking at it," Hermione said with a giggle, giving Macca's shoulder a squeeze and smiling at Harry. "Harry, we've got our books. Think Ringo and Macca could have the day off, just to spend time together?"

Both elves' eyes widened hugely. "Day off!" they squeaked in unison, Ringo's normally pleasantly deep voice cracking at a pretty high octave.

"We could never – "

"We must clean, Master Harry – "

"There is so much to be done – "

"For a house-elf to neglect his duties – "

"Guys!" Harry said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. "It's okay! How about instead of the day off, you team up? First you can take care of your duties here and then make sure my house is Suffolk is good and clean. I'll probably be heading there pretty soon."

The elves perked up considerably.

"Of course, Master Harry!" they said in unison.

"If Master Harry is needing anything – "

"Do not hesitate to call for us!"

They cracked off together, and Harry collapsed tiredly onto the loveseat behind him (the pair had moved into a small side room that Ringo was currently converting to a sort of office, complete with a muggle computer and a full wall of magical filing cabinets where Harry would keep official copies of the records of all of his properties and assets (so he wouldn't have to keep popping to Gringotts to refresh his memory on which manor was where or what businesses he was invested in for how much).

"Anyway," he said, gesturing at Harold. "Continue."

"Alright, the book on top," Harold said, pointing at the tome in question.

"'Honor and Tradition: A Retrospective on Wizard Aristocracy'," Harry recited. "Exciting."

"Surprisingly, it is," Charlus said with a smile, sidling into the frame and taking a seat on the painted stone bench, back straight, posture impeccable. "Back in my time, lords led exciting lives. Hunting, duels, fancy dinners, courting women. Not like it is now."

"Don't sound like an old man, Charlus," Harold chided his son.

"Father, I was 137 when I died," Charlus responded. "Just because you had to piss off that Nantucket warlock and didn't know how to duel to save your life. Literally."

"It was a false start!" Harold shouted, his voice implying that this was not the first or the last time this argument would take place. "I thought we would start _after_ three, not _on _three!"

"Um, gentlemen?" Hermione interrupted while Harry laughed silently next to her. Both men glanced up at her and immediately straightened up, Harold adjusting his tie.

"Right," he said. "Let's begin."

…

"Please let me see if I am…understanding you," Severus said, his face completely impassive as he sat across from Albus. "You want me to…be kinder to my students? Because they cannot handle a little constructive criticism?"

"I would hardly call it constructive," Pomona sniffed, and Severus glared at her. "Oh, don't try that on me, Snape. I recall a young man who would come to my office after class and discuss at great length the effects of different herbs and fungi on potions and draughts."

Severus rolled his eyes but settle back into his seat. "You yourself, Albus, have said that I am the best in my field, that I even surpass Horace in sheer expertise."

"That you do, Severus," Albus said. "However, one can know all there is to know about any given subject and know nothing about how to teach it. You are indeed one of the most accomplished Potions masters I've ever met. But if we are ever to get Harry to return to the school, he needs to know that he won't be berated for everything he does in your class."

"His lack of potions prowess is regrettable – " Severus began, but Minerva rolled his eyes, cutting him off. Filius and Pomona seemed to find the whole scene very amusing.

"Why don't you just out and say it!" Minerva shot at him. "You hate the lad because he looks exactly like his father. His potions skill, his personality, none of it has to do with anything. He looks like James, so you hate him. If you look up 'petty' in the dictionary, Severus, you'll find a picture of you, scowling back at yourself."

"The boy's appearance has nothing to do – "

"No!" Minerva overrode him again. "I'm not hearing it! You don't think I've heard about how you act to all of the Gryffindors, that Filius and Pomona aren't constantly beset by students who will testify that you, Severus Snape, are a 'vindictive tosser'? Well, I've had enough! _Your_ attitude is the one that needs changing, not Harry Potter's and not any of your other students. Merlin help me, if you don't shape up, I will see you thrown out of this castle myself and replaced with someone who will treat his or her students with respect!"

Severus didn't want to give up, though, it seemed. With a contemptuous sneer, he raised an eyebrow at Minerva. "Harry Potter leaves the country, and now you're up in arms and ready to blame me? I daresay, even if we get him back, his swelled head might not fit through – "

"This isn't about Harry Potter," Minerva said. "This is about Harry, a dear student of mine and the child of Lily and James, who I loved as my own children. And thanks in part to your inability to cope with the past, he's been driven from this country! If this change turns out to be permanent, so help me, Severus, you will regret the day you first threw an insult at that boy."

Severus looked between Minerva, whose face was set with a stern scowl that had sent many a Gryffindor out of her office with quivering knees, to Albus, who looked resignedly back at him.

"Severus…."

"Very well," he said, spitting each word out through gritted teeth. "I will attempt to…adjust my teaching style to suit the softheaded simpletons. Should I be unable to, I will resign and seek employment elsewhere."

"I do sincerely hope it doesn't come to that, Severus," Albus replied with a smile. "In fact, I don't think I'm being too optimistic when I say that you may even grow to like the idea of positive reinforcement."

Severus only snorted.

…

Sirius could hardly believe it.

He'd run his poor paws ragged trekking across the English countryside, sneaking onto that muggle ferry, and then even more trekking across French countryside this time. Now, though, as he stared up at the ornate archway leading into the Potters' French manor, he couldn't bring himself to regret any of it. He glanced around the abandoned country lane and decided that, just this once, he could risk going human.

Hopping on his hind legs, he quickly shifted back to his normal form, his still-skeletal form wrapped in loose-fitting muggle clothes he'd lifted from a shop in a nearby town.

Hey, he could at least dress up for his godson.

Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew the letter Harry had sent him and stepped forward.

Roughly half a second later, he was assaulted by a pair of house-elves.

…

"No, no, the wand needs to be aimed just a little higher than your actual target," Harold said, and Harry raised the tip of his wand just a fraction of a centimeter. "Perfect. The spell has a downward arc, so compensating while aiming is key."

"_Carpo crur!_" Harry shouted, and Hermione's legs were jerked out from under her, and she fell, landing softly on the padding they had set up on the floor.

"Well done, Harry!" she praised him with a smile, rolling to her stomach and standing.

"Remember that one," Charlus said, nodding at Harry. "Saved my life in a few duels, it has."

"And nabbed you your first wife, eh?" Harold said, nudging the boy, who glared back.

"You make it sound like I kidnapped her," he said. "It wasn't – "

_CrackCrack!_

"Master Harry, sir! We has captured this intruder!"

"Ringo, it's me!" a hoarse voice croaked, belonging to a bone-thin man currently pinned under Ringo and Macca. "It's Sirius! Padfoot!"

"Sirius?" Harry asked, kneeling next to the man. "You're Sirius Black?"

"J-James?" Sirius asked, looking up at Harry. "Merlin, is that you, Harry? You look exactly like him."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. This gaunt, wax-faced man with scraggly elbow-length hair was Sirius Black, his father's closest friend? What could he have possibly been through in the last thirteen years? It looked like he hadn't had a decent meal…ever….

But then Harry met the eyes. They were sunken, slightly darkened, but he'd seen enough pictures of his father and his friends hanging around the manor, studied them intently, dying to know every detail of the quartet, to know those eyes. Those were Sirius Black's eyes, alright.

"It's okay, you two," Harry said to the elves. "I invited him. You should've sent Hedwig back with something," he told Sirius, and his godfather gave him a small smile.

"Certain circumstances prevented me from that," he said, rolling onto his back and sitting up, staring at Harry with eyes wide in amazement. "It really is you, Harry." He laughed. "Last time I saw you, you could barely walk! But damn it, you knew how to ride a broom, even back then."

"I was on the Gryffindor quidditch team," Harry said proudly. "Seeker."

"Good lad," Sirius praised him, standing gingerly and grunting. Harry shook his head as he took in the extent of his godfather's change.

"Sirius, what happened to you?" he asked, gazing up at the man. Sirius shifted uncomfortably, sighing. "Where are Moony and Wormtail?"

At the second name, his look grew dark. "Harry, there are some things that…you need to know. When your parents…. When it happened…. What do you know about it?"

Harry felt his chest grow cold, and he sat on the sofa, Ringo grabbing a chair for Sirius to sit in while Macca cracked off to get snacks and drinks.

"All I know," Harry replied, "is that Voldemort…k-killed them on Halloween when I was one year old. "Other than that…."

"There's more to it," Sirius said. "A lot more."

…

"I like this school a lot," Emma said as the pair lounged on a couch in the sitting room (which had recently had a television, couch, and stereo system added, courtesy of Harry and Ringo). "They have computer courses, honey, look." The television was playing some French daytime drama in the background, turned down low for noise.

She held out the pamphlet to her husband, who was reading about Dunlap, Arizona's local housing offerings. They traded, and his eyes darted across the paper, an appreciative look growing on his face.

"'…will instruct the students in the basics of melding magic and technology, and Magical Query Language…'," he recited. "Not sure what that last bit is, but it sounds right up Hermione's alley."

"Dunlap seems like a nice place," Hermione observed, her eyes moving from picture to picture of the town, which boasted balmy summers and mild winters. "It's a little dryer than she's used to, but that might not be a bad thing."

"Hm," Dan set the pamphlet down and met his wife's eyes. "I've been thinking."

"Uh-oh," Emma said with a smirk, and her husband only rolled his eyes.

"We'll be sending these two to live on their own in an apartment halfway across the world," he went on. "I don't know about you, but when I was that age, all I could think about was girls. And those two have already shown us they really care about each other."

"We've trusted them before," Emma said with a shrug.

"In separate dorms surrounded by other students," Dan countered. "They'll be living under the same roof with minimal supervision. We can't very well leave the clinic and go with them just to watch over them."

"Then how about we trust them?" Emma asked matter-of-factly. "Harry's a good boy, and we raised Hermione right. She won't do anything she knows she's not ready for, and Harry would never dream of pressing her into something. I don't think the poor boy would even know what to do. He seems a bit…sheltered."

Dan let a small chuckle at that. "I suppose that's true. Still, we ought to at least sit them down and talk with them before we send them over to America."

Nodding, Emma stood, and the pair exited the room, trotting up the nearby staircase and down the extremely ornate hallway (more dark-wood with a crimson carpet down the center). Along the wall, several of the portraits waved at them, a few exchanging a polite greeting with Dan, seemingly reveling in his fascination with the moving occupants.

Dan paused in front of the door where the pair had told them they would be retreating for a couple of hours to study with Harold. Dan wasn't sure how much a portrait could possibly teach anyone, but Hermione assured him that it was every bit as knowledgeable as the real thing.

He knocked twice before opening the door.

"Harry, do you have a…" he trailed off as he took in the sight before him. "Oh."

Harry was staring disbelievingly up at a man that Dan had never seen before, tears streaming down his face as Hermione rubbed his back, also sporting tear-stained cheeks. The man had his face in his hands, and he didn't seem to be in much better shape than either of the younger ones.

"What's wrong?" Emma asked, moving past her husband into the room. "What's happened?"

"Harry just found out who was responsible for his parents dying," Hermione informed her.

…

Ringo served them tea while the Grangers were filled in on the situation.

"So, in order to hide from this Lord Voldemort, your parents cast this charm that hid the location of their house in Sirius's mind?" Emma clarified, and the trio nodded. "And then, as an added precaution, you switched secret-keepers over to this Pettigrew? But he turned out to be working for Voldemort."

"Never trust a rat," Sirius muttered darkly.

"And he…betrayed your parents' location to Voldemort," Dan continued where his wife left off. "And…."

"Voldemort killed them," Harry finished, his voice hoarse. "It was all Pettigrew's fault."

"So, how did you wind up in the wizard prison?" Dan asked. Sirius actually snarled, his lip curling to reveal yellowed teeth that clearly were in desperate need of some dental attention. Dan and Emma visibly cringed when they caught sight of them.

"I tracked down Peter," he said, his fingers flexing as though itching to wrap around this Pettigrew's neck. "Cornered him in some muggle street. But the rat had an escape plan. He shouted as loud as he could, asking me why I'd betray Lily and James. He had his wand hidden behind his back. Used a blasting hex that blew apart the street, killing twelve muggles. He dropped what I later found out was his finger. He'd cut off. He turned into his rat form and disappeared into the sewers. The man who…sold your parents to Voldemort had gotten away, Lily and James were dead, and I knew…I just knew that everyone would think it was my fault. I laughed."

"Laughed?" Hermione asked in a voice barely above a whisper. Sirius slowly shook his head.

"My world was falling apart around me," he said. "Something inside me…broke, I suppose."

Harry reached out and placed a hand on Sirius's shoulder, and his godfather looked up at him with a ghost of a smile.

"So this Pettigrew framed you?" Dan asked. Sirius nodded.

"And I intend to find him," he said. "The only way I can prove my innocence is with Pettigrew, and even then, we have to pin the blame on him. Having his wand would be helpful, but it's probably still with his mum."

"Why would his want help?" Harry asked.

"_Priori incantantem_," Hermione said. "They could check the last spells on the wand, probably see the blasting hex, the severing charm, maybe even the fidelius charm he accepted, since the secret-keeper needs to cast an incantation as well."

"But how would we find Pettigrew?" Harry asked. "He can turn into a rat, and there must be hundreds of – " he stopped as Sirius hoisted a yellowed edition of the Daily Prophet from about a week ago, clearly weather-worn and faded, but the image still visible on the front.

"Ron? Wait…that's not possible…."

"What?" Hermione scooted closer and peered at the picture, but she didn't even seem to see it before realization dawned on her face, a small gasp escaping her. "Scabbers."

…

"_I don't care _what_ your brother was doing; it's no excuse to try and SHUT HIM IN A TOMB!_"

"Just another Weasley family vacation," Ron muttered, grinning as his dad covertly cast a silencing charm on the walls of their hotel room. Next to him, Ginny let a disbelieving snicker.

"'Another'?" she asked. "I don't think we've ever gone on vacation before."

Ron looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding. "True. Well, let's hope this isn't a sign of what's to come, far as vacations go."

"You underestimate Fred and George," Ginny observed, and the two looked back over to see their mum still shrieking at their brothers, who look plainly bored while Percy stood off to the side, looking pompously affronted.

A small nose wriggle out of Ron's shirt pocket, and he absently fed Scabbers a piece of his chocolate muffin, the other hand turning a page in the Daily Prophet that he and Ginny were reading while they waited for mum to stop carrying on so they could go meet Bill in the hotel restaurant.

"Ha!" Ginny said when she saw the first article in the sports section. "'Harpies destroy Cannons'. You owe me a galleon," she sang, and Ron rolled his eyes, shuffling around his pocket to produce the coin in question, passing it to his sister.

"They just need to iron out their lineup," he grumbled, and Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Ron, you've been using that one for years," she said. "Just admit that they're rubbish at quidditch."

"Not until you admit that Gwenog Jones is a feminist psycho," he said. Ginny looked quite ready to respond accordingly to that statement (her hand shot to her wand) when a knock sounded at the door. Molly cut herself off mid-tirade and glanced over at her husband, who was closest to the door. He turned and opened it.

"Oh, Harry," he said, sounding pleasantly surprised. "What brings you to Egypt?"

"I actually just need to speak with Ron really quick, Mr. Weasley," Harry's voice floated through the room. Ginny abruptly shrank in on herself, nervously biting her lip and falling silent. Ron found himself wishing that Harry would spend a lot more time around his family.

"Ron," Dad said, looking puzzled as he sought out his son. "Harry wants to speak with you."

Standing, Ron crossed the room and stepped into the hallway, finding Harry and Hermione waiting for him, Harry giving him a smile.

"Hey, mate," he said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "Read about you in the Prophet. Thousand galleons, huh?"

"Yeah," Ron said, his confusion gone for a moment as he reached into his pocket and unearthed his brand new wand. "Check it out. Willow, fourteen inches, unicorn hair. Good for defensive spells, or Ollivander says so."

"Very nice," Harry said. "Listen, Ron, do you have Scabbers with you?"

Ron looked confused at the non-sequitur but pulled the rat from his pocket nonetheless.

Many things happened in quick succession at that moment, and Ron would later have to be told the exact order in which they occurred.

Quite suddenly, his rat was turned into a paunchy balding man in his mid-thirties clad in tattered robes. Shortly after this, his rat-now-a-creepy-looking-guy was rendered unconscious. There was a swishing of nothingness before Sirius Black simply materialized in the hallway, handing Harry's invisibility cloak back to him, Harry looking only moderately startled at this turn of events.

"Ron, this is Peter Pettigrew," Harry said, nodding at the former rodent. "He's the reason my mum and dad are dead."

"...Bloody hell."

* * *

Yeah, so that one took a little longer because I read The Son of Neptune by Rick Riordan and when that wasn't enough, I spent some time getting a fix here at . Sadly, there's a lack of well-written Percy/Rachel, which is something a fun little ship I support, though Percy/Annabeth is perfectly alright with me (really, there seems to be a lack of well-written Percy Jackson, period). Anyway, I'd write my own but 1.) I have enough unfinished fan fics cluttering up my profile and 2.) I wouldn't know where to start. Ideas?

Anyway, ta for reading, as always. Do drop me a review. I take all constructive criticism into consideration when pumping out new chapters.


	8. Chapter 8

Okay, so that last break was a wee bit longer than usual, but blame Skyrim and a serious bout of winter blues.

Some folks have asked where I'm going with this story. Short version: I haven't got a clue. I like to wing it. I suppose I'll just keep going until a good stopping point presents itself.

* * *

_July 9, 1993  
3:45 p.m.  
Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Minstry of Magic_

"I'm finding a lot of holes in your story, Mr. Pettigrew."

"W-what do you…?"

Auror Shacklebolt leaned on the desk across from Pettigrew, staring the buck-toothed man down, watching as he recoiled back into his chair, watery eyes wide with fear.

James and Lily Potter had really trusted their lives to this man?

"You say that you've been hiding for the last twelve years as a rat because you were scared of Voldemort and his followers," Shacklebolt said, watching serenely as Pettigrew flinched at the name. "But I don't see it. What more of a target would you have been than any other Order member?"

"I-I was…scared that Sirius would come after me again!" Pettigrew said, sounding proud of himself for thinking of such a good reason. "Yes! He was the Dark Lord's right hand man!"

"And safely locked away in Azkaban," Shacklebolt added. "Living with a wizard family, surely you had to have seen the headlines at some point, heard it in passing, given that Arthur Weasley is a Ministry official."

While Pettigrew spluttered, looking for words, Shacklebolt went on. "And then there's the matter of this blasting hex…" he said, pulling out a few pictures from muggle and magic newspapers, detailing the carnage of that day. "You say that Black cast it in an insane over-the-top measure to kill you, but you escaped, leaving behind a finger to throw him off your…tail," he dropped another picture of Pettigrew as a rat, obtained when he had tried to escape custody earlier in the day.

"I did!" Pettigrew said, holding up his hand, wiggling the nub where his finger was missing. "Black is a madman! I had to throw him off, so I left my robes and my finger behind and escaped – "

"Auror Moody," Kingsley cut smoothly over the man, turning to the scarred man by the door, who had been standing in silence until now, his electric blue eye whizzing around its socket, "what's the cast time on a blasting hex?"

"Average of point two-seven seconds," Moody recited. "Incantation is another second or so."

"One point two-seven seconds," Kingsley said, turning back to Pettigrew, who shrank back in his chair. "In which time you managed to anticipate what Black was about to do, come up with a plan, chop your finger off, toss it aside along with your robes, and turn into a rat. Auror Moody. Let's say that this is all hypothetically possible. If a blasting hex were aimed a rat, how would that rat fare?"

"At best," Moody growled, both eyes fixed on the sniveling man, "it would be thrown against any nearby solid objects at a rate of two-hundred kilometers per hour. Short version: death."

Looking back at the man, Kingsley shook his head. "I think, Mr. Pettigrew, that you were indeed hiding from Voldemort and his Death Eaters, but for an entirely different reason. You were scared that they would blame you for his death."

"M-me?" Peter squeaked. "I don't know what you're t-talking – "

He fell silent when Kingsley produced a sealed plastic bag containing a wand, recoiling at the sight.

"You know what this is," Kingsley said in a voice barely above a whisper. "Your mum was stricken when the aurors came to her with this and your finger in a box. Imagine how she felt when we showed up at her house two days ago asking if we could have it back because it may just tie you to the murder of two upstanding wizards and the attempted murder of a third, a minor, no less. Not to mention suspicion of being a death eater, which carries a whole slew of other accusations."

Pettigrew was recoiling in his chair now, staring fixatedly at the wand, shaking his head slowly back and forth.

"Auror Moody," Kingsley said, still staring down the man, "would you read off the last five spells used by this wand?"

Pettigrew began to sob as Moody unfurled a roll of parchment, his good eye darting across the paper while the other stared right through at the crying man.

"'Spells used by wand, eight and three-quarters inches, dragon heartstring core, registered to Peter Preston Pettigrew, to begin with most recent and continue in descending order. First: one blasting hex, twelve victims; following one severing hex, aimed at a finger; following…' several minor household spells, but I think, Shacklebolt, you'll be most intrigued by this one. 'One fidelius charm, secret transfer from Sirius Black to Peter Pettigrew. Secret owner, James Charlus Potter.'"

Pettigrew was weeping openly in his seat as Shacklebolt glared at him.

"Now, that last one…" he said. "That one changes things."

…

_**Sirius Black Exonerated!**_

_Peter Pettigrew the Real Murderer!_

_By Killian Smythee_

_In a truly shocking turn of events, Sirius Black, once believed to be the culprit behind the deaths of twelve muggles and the wizard Peter Pettigrew, has been cleared of all charges in a recent ruling by Ministry officials and the Wizengamot. Black, who recently escaped from Azkaban prison and was at first believed to be attempting to resurrect He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, was in fact attempting to track down evidence of his innocence in the form of former best friend Peter Pettigrew._

"_We've recently learned that Peter Pettigrew, previously presumed dead at the hands of Sirius Black, was in fact alive this whole time and had been working for You-Know-Who prior to this whole incident," a Ministry spokesperson said._

_The Ministry official went on to say that Pettigrew was responsible for handing over Harry Potter's parents to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, which inadvertently led to the Dark Lord's downfall, earning him more than a few enemies on both sides of the war._

"_I'm sure he wasn't planning on that," says Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was there to apprehend Pettigrew when he was discovered in Egypt by none other than Harry Potter himself, who was unavailable for comment. Sources say that Black sought him out after escaping, possibly looking for help or simply wishing to see his godson again. The exact circumstances of Pettigrew's capture are being kept confidential, but it has been confirmed that Black played a crucial role in his apprehension._

"_No one likes to admit they were wrong," Shacklebolt says, "especially in our society, which is somewhat notorious for its pride. However, yes, we were wrong about Sirius Black, and the Ministry will issue a full pardon for his actions as well as an official apology. As for Pettigrew, we will see to it that he is made to pay for his unconscionable actions."_

_The Daily Prophet will continue to find out the truth behind this terrible tale and bring you the latest news as it becomes available._

…

_July 11, 1993  
7:20 p.m.  
Harry's Suffolk Manor  
Suffolk, England_

Remus was shaking, and he had a good idea why.

He looked almost normal again. Thin, of course, but filling out, probably due to three square meals a day and a much more active lifestyle. His eyes were the same silvery gray that had entranced young witches from every house, though they carried a new shadow, memories of the past twelve years. And his hair was cut back to his shoulders and revitalized, probably with the help of some cosmetic potions.

But the moment Sirius Black caught sight of Remus Lupin, his face broke out in a huge grin, and any and all difference between the man in front of him and the Sirius Black that had lifted James onto his and Moony's shoulders at the wedding was gone.

"Moony," he said, his voice a little hoarse. "How you been?"

Remus could only laugh, blinking away tears as he hugged his old friend.

…

"Ugh, dress robes," Harry grumbled, tugging at his tie as he trudged into his room, slumping onto his bed.

"Master Harry looked very handsome in his robes," Ringo insisted, hopping onto the bed to help Harry out of his outer robe. "Were they not comfortable? Should Ringo have a new set tailored?"

"No, no, they were fine," Harry said. "They're just…. There's so much _robe_," he finished, tugging at his collar and undoing a few buttons. "I've got this bloody collar choking me and probably fifty kilos of cloth hanging off me. And there's so much ceremony during those proceedings! They spend half the bloody time just introducing people and explaining how important they are, and of course, I get a five minute introduction where they go on about how I killed Voldemort and I'm the 'hero of the wizard world'. Then they sit there and spend another twenty minutes just talking about why we're there, what the session hopes to accomplish. I mean, can't they send a leaflet the night before explaining all that, so we can read it on our own time?"

"An excellent point, Master Harry," Ringo said, handing Harry's robe and undershirt to Macca, who set them in a nearby laundry basket, moving to the closet and grabbing out Harry's swim trunks.

"Will Master Potter be relaxing in the spa this evening?" the elf asked. Harry nodded, taking the trunks.

"Yeah, that sounds brilliant," he said, waiting until the elves politely turned around before doffing his clothes and sliding into the trunks. "The portkey's set up for the morning, right?"

"Eleven sharp, Master Harry!" Ringo said, following Harry as he strode through the hall of his Suffolk manor. "Ringo and Macca will be sure to awaken Master Harry and his guests with time to spare!"

"Thanks, you two," Harry said as he stepped out into the late afternoon sun onto his screened-in back porch, the hot tub already churning and bubbling, the two occupants lounging in the water. Sirius had his feet propped up on the edge of the tub, while Remus was uncapping two bottles of beer, passing one to Sirius.

"Yeah, let's get pissed," Sirius said with relish, downing a great swig of his alcohol. "Ah, I've missed Walt Fitzer's. There's a wizard who knew his alcohol. Harry!" he said as he spotted the boy slipping into the hot tub. "The man of the hour! Hope you don't mind, we hopped in before you."

"No, it's alright," Harry said with a grin, nodding over at Remus. "Moony."

Remus chuckled. "I haven't been called Moony in years. I think Sirius is making up for lost time, though. That's all he's been calling me."

Sirius nudged the werewolf with his foot. "C'mon, _Moony_, can you blame me for feeling a bit nostalgic. Pass one of those to Harry, would ya?"

"He's a minor, _Padfoot_," Remus said, giving Sirius a stern look, but Harry's godfather simply whipped out his wand (brand new, apple wood, fourteen inches, unicorn hair) and summoned another bottle, passing it to Harry.

"One won't kill him, and we're here to make sure he doesn't do anything _too_ dangerous," he said, grinning as he uncapped the bottle with his wand, raising his own bottle with the other. "Alright lads, toast. To James and Lily. May they rest in peace knowing that the Rat is rotting away in Azkaban and their son is under the careful guidance of the remaining Marauders."

"Hear, hear," Remus said, now also grinning.

"To Mum and Dad," Harry said, his eyes stinging as the trio clinked their bottles together and took a drink, Harry coughing slightly as the alcohol slid down his throat. Sirius laughed, clapping him on the back.

"Reminds me of James's first shot of firewhisky," he chuckled. "Remember that, Moony?"

"How could I forget?" Remus said with a roll of the eyes. "He _insisted_ that he not start out with a lighter drink, like Butterbeer Dark or something. He had to go straight for whiskey."

"What happened?" Harry asked, already grinning.

"Well, the boy's fourteen, mind you, and he downs a shot of Ogden's, which is strong stuff," Remus said. "He starts hacking and coughing and doesn't stop for _five minutes_, and then he goes on a walking tour of Hogwarts piss drunk and ends up snogging the Hufflepuff prefect on duty. She lost her badge."

Harry burst out laughing, as did Sirius, snorting into his drink as he took another draw. "Poor Nancy Snipes. She'd always had a bit of a thing for Prongs."

"A lot of girls did," Remus said. "Your dad was quite a heartbreaker in his heyday."

"Star of the quidditch team, fairly well-known family, and he had a certain charisma," Sirius said, staring into the sky.

"What about my mum?" Harry asked. "Was she one of his admirers?"

"Oh, Merlin, no," Sirius said with a laugh. "She hated him!"

Harry's eyes widened. "Wait, what?"

Remus chuckled, taking another swallow of his drink, and Harry mimicked him, the strong alcoholic taste making him shudder.

"James was a little…sure of himself back then," Remus said, setting his bottle on the side of the hot tub.

"Meaning he was pompous and a bit on the arrogant side," Sirius said with a grin. "We both were, of course. Just a couple of idiotic kids. Lils didn't see that as a positive point."

"So Snape was right?" Harry asked, leaning forward. "My dad was…?"

"Severus Snape," Remus said, "is the last person I would go to for a character evaluation on your father, Harry. There was a lot of enmity there. Severus was jealous of your father's natural ability for befriending people."

"And Prongs just hated Slytherins," Sirius said, "and he and Snivellus didn't get off to a great start. From day one, they were at each other's throats."

"Yes, Harry, your father had his faults," Remus admitted, "but Snape was no saint, either. He did as much antagonizing as he got."

Slightly placated, Harry took another drink. On retrospect, though, the Marauders got into so much trouble that it made the Weasley twins look tame; of course their leader, his father, wouldn't have a model character.

"What about my mum?" Harry said, finally asking the question that had been bugging him since he'd arrived at his French manor. "What was she like?"

"Honest, Harry?" Sirius said with a smirk. "She was so much like your Hermione that it's scary."

Harry blinked. "Hermione?"

"Lily didn't tolerate a whole lot of rule-flouting, and she was very studious," Remus said. "Probably one of the smartest witches in the year. Prefect, of course, Head Girl."

"Did you know her?" Harry asked. "In school, I mean? She didn't like Dad or Sirius, but…."

"We were friends," Remus said with a distant smile. "She and I were the Gryffindor Prefects of our year. And even before that, she was always kind to me. She…figured out my secret all on her own. She was sometimes a little too canny for her own good," he added with a chuckle.

"Too right," Sirius added with a chuckle. "I remember, when she and your dad had gotten together, finally. We told her that we were animagi. Her response?"

"'I know'," Remus laughed. "She'd had us figured out since sixth year. I think that's when she began to see your father in a different light. Becoming animagi isn't an easy process. Your father, all of them, went through a lot of hardship, just for me."

"It was worth every moment, Moony," Sirius said with a grin, nudging Remus with his foot.

"D'you think I could do it?" Harry asked. "Become an animagus?"

Sirius chuckled. "I dunno, Harry. First step to becoming an animagus is knowing you have a damn good reason to do it. Without that knowledge, it's almost impossible."

"They call it the focal thought," Remus said. "You figure it out, and then it's just a lot of meditation from that point until you're granted a vision of what animal you'll become. Then it's a lot of trial and error, I'm told."

"Emphasis on error," Sirius smirked, looking back at Harry. "But without that reason, you have no point of reference when you're doing the meditation, so the process can't move forward."

"So, step one is find a good reason to even _become _an animagus," Harry said, shrugging, and Sirius nodded.

"Don't bother searching for one, either," he said. "It'll come to you, if it's meant to be. For now, focus on becoming a good wizard. And that girl of yours."

Harry rolled his eyes, feeling his face heat up, and he gave Sirius a playful punch in the shoulder. "I don't need any help with that, thank you."

"Oh, a ladies' man, eh?" Sirius said with a laugh. "Hide your daughters, America. You don't know what you're in for."

Remus chuckled as he took another draw, finishing off his bottle. "You're really going to the States, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Hermione's parents want to send her there, and there's no changing their minds on this one."

"And you just decided to tag along, eh?" Sirius asked, finishing off his own bottle and snagging another from the case, passing one to Remus and another to Harry. "Go on, we've cause to celebrate, after all."

"Well, some of it had to do with Hermione," Harry said, "but her mum and dad made a few good points. Looking back at the past couple years, Hogwarts hasn't really been the safest place."

He uncapped his bottle and took a drink while Sirius and Remus exchanged a look.

"Why's that?" Remus asked, and Harry chuckled.

"Well, why don't we start with the troll and go from there?"

…

_7:45 p.m.  
The Burrow  
Ottery St. Catchpole, England_

The Weird Sisters strummed away a sad melody from the beaten speakers of the worn wireless perched on Ron's bedside table, perfectly matching the redhead's mood as he stared out at the beautiful evening, the sun just barely dipping below the horizon and tingeing the sky and grass in a medley of purples and oranges.

Why couldn't it rain or at least be really cloudy? A beautiful summer afternoon just wasn't a good moping environment. And Ronald Bilius Weasley really just wanted to do some moping.

A soft knock came at his door, and his sister's muffled voice floated through the wood.

"Oi, Ron," she said. "Mum says dinner'll be ready in about fifteen minutes, so make sure you're at the table."

"'Kay," Ron grunted, not looking up from his spot on his bed. He heard an exasperated sigh before his door closed, jumping only slightly when his mattress dipped a little near his feet. Apparently, his sister was joining him.

"You just gonna sit in here and pout forever, then?" Ginny asked.

"I thought about it, yeah," Ron said, and he saw her roll her eyes.

"Look, Ron," she said, "he had us all fooled, not just you. Mum, Dad, Percy, even that creature specialist Percy took him to after that gnome got to him. It's nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed about."

Ron was silent, mulling over that for a moment, then shook his head. "He was…a friend."

Ginny sighed, giving him a sad smile, gripping his ankle and giving it a shake. "And he turned to be a creepy old wizard who sold Harry's parents to You-Know-Who."

He lifted his head to give her a small glare. "Yeah. So you can understand why I'm feeling a little down."

"Look, I know how you feel, kind of," Ginny said, scooting to lean against the wall, her legs draped across her brother's, brown eyes staring unseeingly at a Chudley Cannons poster tacked to his wall. "Used, violated, deceived…. But also mad at him, mad at yourself for being fooled like that, and above all, you feel like…how can you go back to normal, back to just being Ron Weasley after finding all this out, you know? I mean, none of it's really your fault, but trying telling _yourself _that, right?"

Ron stared up at her as she gave this little speech. "Well…yeah…" was all he could say. She gave a small giggle, looking down at him with a smile.

"It's all about picking yourself up," she said. "Tell yourself, 'Okay, this bad thing happened, but there was really no way I could've known it would.' I'm sure Harry doesn't blame you in the slightest, either. And now he's got a godfather. He's probably over the moon right now."

Ron cracked a small smile at that. "He actually wrote and said that Sirius is a riot. He says he's never been happier."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Then stop moping about, you prat. The more you think, 'Oh, poor me, I spent four years with this awesome rat, and it was all a ruse.', the more you let Pettigrew win. Get a new pet, dote on it just like you did that rat, and let him rot in prison."

Ron glanced at the letter Harry had sent. His friend had included a few galleons, insisting that Ron use it buy himself a new pet. A small part of Ron (the proud part that didn't take handouts from anyone) wanted to politely decline the money, but a distinctly louder part (the part that said a few coins between friends was fine as long as he didn't go _mooching_) decided it would be rude to turn down the gift from his friend.

"I suppose a trip to Diagon Alley wouldn't hurt."

…

_8:47 p.m.  
Harry's Paris Manor  
Paris, France_

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione glanced up from her book and spotted another of Harry's little squad of elves (Jocko, she recalled) bowing deeply to her.

"Oh, you don't have to all that, Jocko," she said, marking her spot and setting her book aside, fixing her attention on the creature. "What is it?"

"A…guest has called on the house," Jocko replied, showing a small touch of distaste before he schooled his features back to a neutral look. His snout-like face and vertical ears made him startlingly like a statue of Anubis. "Shall Jocko how him in?"

"Who is it?"

"He identifies himself only as Dobby, Madam," Jocko said. "He's being a house-elf, like Jocko, Mistress."

"Dobby?" Hermione asked. The elf that had caused Harry no end of grief last year in an effort to save his life? Last Hermione had heard, Harry had caused his master, none other than Lucius Malfoy, to unwittingly free the elf. "What's he want? Does he want to work for Harry?"

"Apparently so, Miss," Jocko said, nodding. "Shall I send him away? A house-elf that has been dismissed from service is likely…ineffective as a proper elf."

"No, please, send him in," Hermione said, giving Jocko a smile. "I think this is an error on his former master's part. I'm sure Harry would be glad to have Dobby working for him."

The lupine elf gave another bow. "Of course, Miss Granger. Jocko will send him right in."

_Well, this should be interesting,_ Hermione mused with a small smile. According to Harry, Dobby could be quite…exuberant.

Jocko arrived moments later with a shorter elf with huge, bat-like ears and wide tennis-ball-green eyes that seemed to water with emotion as Dobby laid eyes on Hermione.

"You must be Mister Harry Potter's bet – "

"Girlfriend," Hermione overrode him, and Dobby squeaked, clapping his hands to his mouth, nodding vigorously.

"Mister Harry Potter's girlfriend!" Dobby said. "Dobby is honored to meet you at last, Miss Granger!"

"It's wonderful to meet you, too, Dobby," Hermione said with a smile. "I understand you want to work for Harry?"

The elf nodded vigorously. "Dobby would be honored to serve Harry Potter and his bet – his girlfriend!"

Hermione giggled and pulled her legs up to tuck them underneath her. "So, will you be wanting wages, Dobby? Harry mentioned that you wanted to earn a living."

Dobby smiled hugely. "Miss Granger would be willing to _pay_ Dobby for his working? Dobby would be most honored to be employed by the noble house of Potter!" The elf gave a little skip, and Hermione laughed at his excitement.

"Well, consider yourself hired," she said. "Harry would be happy to have you."

…

_July 13, 1993  
8:56 a.m.  
Headmaster's Office  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

"This is an excellent step forward, Albus," Filius said, his voice full of approval as he read the paper in front of him. Neat writing up at the top read, _Hiring Policies_.

"I've gotten a hold of something called a computer," Albus said, gesturing at the large plastic white box sitting on his desk. "It's really a marvelous object. The muggles have recently developed something called an 'internet', which allows them to communicate with each other almost anywhere using cords. And wouldn't you believe it, the magical community of America has adapted this into a magical construct that doesn't even need the cords. It communicates using some sort of FLOO Chip, I'm told. I'm honestly not entirely sure how it all works."

Filius gave the box a curious look and shrugged, looking back at the list.

_7. All prospective Hogwarts professors must submit to a full physical examination by a St. Mungo's qualified medical examiner._

_8. All applicants will be subject to a proficiency examination in their indicated field. Any applicants failing to pass this examination will be dismissed._

"In any case, I've been exchanging f-mails – that is, floo mail – with the American boy, Leon Mason," Albus said. "We've been having the most enlightening exchanges. He proposed a few of the items on that list."

"I like this one," Filius said, pointing at number fourteen. "'_All prospective professors must show an ability to communicate with students and demonstrate positive reinforcement.'_"

"My only fear is that all of these restrictions will drastically reduce an already shrinking pool of prospective professors," Albus said, and Filius shrugged.

"Then so be it," he said. "We can't let superstitions or hiring standards stop us from ensuring that these students are given the best education possible."

Albus nodded before his computer spoke to him.

"_You've got mail!_"

"Ah!" Albus said with a smile, rolling his chair over to the screen and clicking a few things with the mouse. "I have mail, Filius! And the computer's told me about it!"

"Like a child with a new toy," Filius muttered, his eyes still darting over the list.

…

_10:04 a.m.  
The Burrow  
Ottery St. Catchpole, England_

The sound of a roll of parchment being crumpled up by an angry little fist broke the otherwise calm summer morning as Ginny Weasley hurled the clump of paper across the room to join its fellows by the dustbin. She could _never_ figure out the opening when she was writing essays. The body was fine, and she was at least passable at a closing paragraph, but the first few lines were maddening.

_The bezoar is not well known, but it's important in antidotes. When making antidotes, there's a good chance that you'll have to use some part of_

No, that's rubbish, Ginny mused as she crumpled up another paper and tossed it, jumping as a rather sizable orange paw darted up and batted it out of the air, and soon the paper was the mouse in a literal game of cat and mouse, though this cat more strongly resembled a baby tiger than anything. The massive cat turned to look at Ginny. It was a bandy-legged creature with a squashed face, like someone had taken a book to it (or perhaps it had simply run into wall?). Its bottlebrush tail stuck out at an odd angle, curling as it peered up at Ginny with deep-set yellow eyes.

It was gorgeous.

"Ron!" Ginny called, jumping to the obvious conclusion. "I take it you've found a new pet!"

Footsteps could be heard thumping up the stairs before Ron appeared in the doorway, grinning as he eyed his sister then looked at the cat.

"Oi!" he said. "My room's further upstairs, cat."

The cat stared at him a moment before darting from the room between his legs. Ginny giggled and shook her head at her brother.

"Well?"

"His name's Crookshanks, the woman said," Ron told her. "He's half-kneazle or something. Lady was pretty keen to get rid of the beast, so I decided, hey, cats eat rats, right?"

She couldn't fault him that logic. "I'm sure you two will get along wonderfully."

* * *

Personally, I feel the bulk of the animosity between Ron and Crookshanks was due entirely to Wormtail's presence. Thus, if Ron had merely walked into the Magical Menagerie looking for a pet and found this massive cat for a fairly cheap price, he'd probably come to the conclusion that a creature that eats rodents would be perfect after what had just happened.

Albus Dumbledore with a freaking computer was a last minute addition and made me laugh.


	9. Chapter 9

Soooo, minor delay on that one. I could offer many, many excuses or say life got in the way. Fact is, I don't have a life. I have video games. Those got in the way. Anyway, here's the next chapter, made possible by constant pestering for new chapters. Also, fun little game, I want every review to include one idea, and if I like it, I'll include it and credit the reviewer. Who knows, you may be responsible for the next big plot/subplot!

Read on!

...

As had become the norm for nearly the past decade, Number 12 Grimmauld Place was still and silent, save the occasional mutterings of a stooped house-elf that shuffled through the halls, leaving a trail in the dust coating the hallways. He paused in front of a tapestry, where an ultra-realistic depiction of a woman hung, her face regal, her expression one of constant disdain.

"Mistress," the elf croaked. "Kreacher has dusted the china set and drawn the blinds in the sitting room, as asked. What shall he do to please Mistress next?"

Mrs. Black didn't have a chance to answer before nearly a dozen various cracks and pops sounded in the hallway, which was suddenly packed with as many house elves, who looked around in apparent horror at their squalid surroundings.

"Master Harry has instructed us to clean this house from top to bottom!" one of the elves shouted at the rest. "Group A will take the attic and third floor, Group B the middle, Group C the bottom floor, and Group D will go with Dobby to the basement! Move out!" Unlike the rest, who were wearing embroidered pillowcases, this one was wearing what seemed to be a specially tailored bellboy suit. As the elves scattered throughout the house, muffled footsteps sounded on the stairs, and coughing could be heard from nearby.

"You weren't kidding, Sirius!" Harry said over the din of the elves. "This place has really seen better days."

"I'm just glad you didn't mind loaning out your elves for the day," Sirius replied, gazing around the hall. "I didn't fancy trying to clean this place up on my own. Oi!" he shouted, spotting the aged house elf standing shocked next to the portrait of his mother, who was screaming bloody murder as a group of three elves slowly pried her from the wall. "Kreacher. C'mere!"

Unable to deny an order from his master, though clearly still agape at the crude treatment of the lifelike relief of his mistress, the emaciated elf lurched over to Sirius as the hallway emptied out, the waves of elves practically giddy at the disgusting house that they now got to clean.

"Y-yes, Master Sirius?" the elf asked, bowing, adding in a low mutter, "He dares show up, bold as can be, after _years_ away from home and sets these strange elves upon his – "

"Here," Sirius said, cutting off the elf's ramblings and tossing him one of Harry's old hand-me-down shirts. The shirt, already huge on Harry, was practically a tent to the elf, who caught it and stared at it in revulsion. "You're free. Get out."

With that, Sirius turned and marched back down the stairs, followed by Harry, Remus, and Hermione.

The four of them found their way down to a drawing room, where Hermione immediately breezed over to a bookshelf set in the wall and skimmed the spines, looking noticeably revolted at most of the titles.

"Sirius, your family was…" she trailed off, looking a little pained as she tried to think of a polite word.

Sirius chuckled. "They were a bunch of tossers," he said. "You won't find a whole lot of 'happy' books in this house."

"Will your elf be okay?" Harry asked, standing as Jocko popped into the room with a vacuum, followed by three more elves with various cleaning implements. The group paused and merely watched as the entire room was rendered spotlessly clean in minutes.

"Honestly, I don't think that elf is long for this world anyway," Sirius continued their conversation, plopping down on a newly clean couch and kicking his feet up on a nearby coffee table. "But he was my parents' house-elf, through and through. He inherited all of their prejudices, beliefs, and most important, he hates my guts."

"He hates you?" Harry asked. "But he was your house-elf."

"That doesn't matter," Sirius said with a shrug. "A house-elf can be loyal without actually liking the family it's loyal to. Look at Dobby. You told me he snuck away from the Malfoys to warn you about the basilisk and whatnot."

Harry nodded. "That's true."

"Anyway," Sirius said, lounging back in his chair and staring at a massive bust of some long-dead relative, "subject change. We need something to go there," he nodded at the statue. "I'm thinking one of those muggle TVs. And a big sound-system! With a VCR and CD player!"

"I've read that in places like Japan and the United States," Hermione said, "they actually have magically enhanced versions of electronics. Never-Skip CD-Players, cassette tapes that don't need to be rewound, televisions that get stations from all over the world using FLOO-chips. It's amazing."

"We'll have to bring some over and fix this place up with all the modern stuff," Sirius said with a grin, raising his wand and silently blasting the bust into smithereens. Even as the shards rained onto the carpet, an elf (Tito, Harry recalled) popped in and began sweeping them up, bowing deeply to Harry before popping off.

"Didn't like him?" Remus asked, and Sirius laughed.

"It's safe to assume I didn't like much of anyone in my family," he replied.

…

"The blood-traitor brat bursts in and has the _nerve_ to set strange elves upon the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black! To dismiss Kreacher after he's served the true family for generations! Kreacher shouldn't stand for, won't stand for it!"

Kreacher felt the elf magic binding him to the house trickling away, and with it his right to remain within the black manor. He had just has one last mission to fulfill.

"_The locket, Kreacher. Save the locket."_

"Yes, Mistress."

Stepping into the study, Kreacher slowly padded across the room. To his relief, the Mistress's brat and his squeaky elves hadn't yet reached this area of the manor.

"_Here, Kreacher. It's here."_

His gaze was drawn to a glass-fronted cabinet across the room, where a sizeable locket sat amongst various other dark trinkets and gadgets. Amongst the other devices, it didn't stand out at all, but to Kreacher, there was a beacon on it, a bright light marking it as special.

"_This was Regulus's, Kreacher…. He went to a lot of trouble to obtain it. And he wants you to keep it secret. Keep it safe."_

"Of course, Mistress. Kreacher lives to serve."

"_Kreacher is a good elf."_

He opened the cabinet and snatched up the locket, which was the size of his knobby fist, and strung it around his neck. The chain magically adjusted, shrinking to fit his small body. As a final touch, he slid the Potter brat's massive shirt over him. It trailed behind him like a cloak as he turned to shoot a sneer in the direction that he knew his hated former master sat. With a final _Crack!_, he disapparated.

…

"So, Birthday Boy, you still wanna have your party in a rundown place like this?" Sirius asked, nudging Harry with his foot. Harry elbowed him back.

"It wouldn't be rundown if my _godfather_ had told me, say, a week ago, that he happened to have a _mansion_," Harry shot back. "I have a legion of house-elves, Padfoot. No amount of dust or dirt will stand between me and my birthday."

Hermione giggled, her head resting on his shoulder as she read a book that she had finally found that wasn't full of dark magic. "That would be an excellent opening line for a movie trailer," she said, adopting a deep, mock-dramatic voice. "'No amount of dust or dirt will stand between me and my _birthday!_'."

Harry laughed, poking her in the side, and she squeaked, giggling and wrapping her arms around his neck, planting a kiss on his cheek.

"I wanted to have my birthday in my real family's house for once," he said, nodding toward Sirius. "If that means sending every house-elf working for me to clean up the place, so be it."

"By the way, Harry, Mum and Dad wanted to say thank you for hosting us in France," Hermione said, looking up from her book suddenly. "And, they said that Dobby was a big help with the luggage and cleaning up the house after they'd been gone so long."

"Did you have fun at my place?" he asked, and Hermione nodded.

"I'll have to visit next summer, too," she said. "And the summer after, and after that."

"Get a room, you two," Sirius said with a chuckle, smirking at the pair and checking the clock. "Hey, it's almost one. Wasn't your red-haired friend supposed to get here around then?" As if on cue, a doorbell rang in the distance.

"Oh!" Harry said, standing and dashing for the front door. Hermione rolled her eyes at Sirius, standing and smoothing her skirt.

"I was comfortable, I'll have you know," she said, and Sirius laughed, bopping her in the back to push her toward the door.

"Oh, get going," he said. She stuck her tongue out at him and made her way down the hallway after Harry, leaving the two remaining Marauders lounging in the room.

"Ah, to be young again," Remus said, staring at the ceiling. Sirius grabbed a throw pillow and tossed at his friend, who chuckled and threw one back.

"You're only as old as you feel, Moony."

…

Harry skidded to a halt in front of the door and threw open to reveal his best friend standing there toting a bag and –

"Ron, what on Earth is that?"

The redhead grinned hugely as he hefted a giant cat with fur the same color as his hair. "This is Crookshanks! I got him about a week ago at Diagon Alley. Isn't he wicked?"

"He's beautiful," Hermione said, appearing behind Harry to scratch the cat behind its ears. "Hi, Crookshanks!"

"Mum loves him because he keeps the gnomes out of the garden," Ron said as the trio made their way inside, Jocko quietly cracking away with Ron's overnight bag. "And Ginny thinks he might be half-kneazle or something."

"How does she figure that?" Hermione asked.

"When we were in Diagon Alley, this street hawker was trying to sell us some of those magic two-way mirrors, y'know?"

"Yeah, Sirius has a set of those," Harry said.

"Well, Crookshanks made this weird yowling noise," Ron went on, "and he kept glaring at the man. Ginny pretty much dragged us away, told me kneazles are good at sniffing out the untrustworthy types."

"That's true," Hermione said. "If you ever get lost, a kneazle can lead you back home, no problem, too. And did you know, their whiskers are used as wand cores in some countries."

Ron rolled his eyes. "I've been back for thirty seconds, Hermione, and you're spouting kneazle trivia."

She huffed. "I think it's interesting."

"Well, if your pet's half kneazle, it is good to know," Harry admitted, and Ron gaped at him. "What?"

"She's gotten to you, mate!" Ron said in mock terror, gripping Harry's shoulders. "I knew you shouldn't have holidayed with her! Come back!"

"Oh, leave it out," Harry said with a smirk, giving Ron a little punch to the chest while Hermione rolled her eyes, turning and striding down the entryway, the two boys in tow. While Dobby discreetly cracked away with their friend's luggage, Harry and Hermione led Ron back to the sitting room, where Sirius and Remus were now playing a spirited game of wizard chess. Sirius, having never had much patience for the game, was trying to goad his chess set into taking on Remus's in a full-on scrum rather than follow the rules.

"Look at his king!" Sirius exclaimed, pointing at Remus's king piece, which was sitting atop a regal throne. Harry had to admit, whoever had carved the piece had given the man a rather portly belly, while Sirius's was slimmer, with a sword to boot. "The man's been hitting the rum barrel a bit too hard, you ask me! You could take him!"

"Sir," Sirius's king said, sounding more than a little miffed, "this is game of logic and strategy, not brute strength. I don't care of the other king is a common muggle piece, I will not violate the very purpose for which I was designed!"

"Your Highness, we _could_ take them," Sirius's knight said, his little granite horse cantering on his square. "I mean, his knights' horses don't even have legs."

"Enough!" the king said. "We do this right or not at all!"

"Sirius," Harry said, raising his voice to be heard over the tiny argument and his godfather, "you remember Ron? You two met in Egypt."

Sirius glanced up at hearing his name and grinned at the redhead. "Briefly," he said, standing and striding across the room extending a hand and giving Ron's a firm shake. "Alright, mate? Sorry about the whole rat thing. For the best, though really."

"Right," Ron said in bemusement. "Well, I got a cat, so no harm done."

Sirius grinned. "Good man. Now, the elves tell me they've all but finished the house up, so how about a tour?"

…

That evening, the trio plus Remus and Sirius all sat down for a small birthday dinner before the party tomorrow. While Dobby served in his fancy new outfit (specially tailored by Madame Malkins in what she said was her strangest order yet), Ringo and Macca pulled out all the stops, putting the newly spotless Black Manor kitchen through its paces as they served food that Ron said rivaled even his own mother's in quality.

"Blimey, Harry," he said, letting a little belch as he sat back after his second helping of pheasant (personally hunted by Jocko, the elf had said with a distinctive cock of his Winchester hunting rifle). "Can I borrow one of these elves sometime? Mum would love a night off sometime."

"Just let me know," Harry said with a chuckle. "They'd be honored, I'm sure."

"So, tell me about this inheritance," Ron said, his eyes suddenly going wide. "I heard you have like a billion houses!"

"Fourty-two, actually," Harry said. "Twelve in the UK, thirty others all over the world."

"I wanna borrow one sometime," Ron said immediately.

"Ron!" Hermione chided. "You can't just – "

"Done," Harry said with a grin, and Hermione looked at him in puzzlement. Harry smiled at her. "Hermione, it's not like I'm going to be using _all_ of them. I could probably go my whole life without setting foot in a few."

"Yeah, and I won't be mooching," Ron promised. "Just if I fall on hard times or need a break from life. Or wanna throw a wicked party."

"Hermione, relax," Harry laughed, gripping her shoulder and giving it rub. "I've never had anything worth sharing before. Let me bum my best friend a house once in a while."

The absurdity of the statement finally made Hermione giggle, shaking her head. "You're such a goof."

"A _goof_?" Harry said in mock affront, tickling her neck. "I'm a _goooooof_!" He tickled her as he drew out the word, and Hermione squealed, wriggling away from him.

"Harrryyyyyy!"

Ron rolled his eyes, going back to his pheasant, picking the last bit of meat clean and pushing his plate away. Immediately, Dobby popped in and took the plate.

"Another serving, Master Weasley?"

"No, thank you, but what's dessert?"

Dobby bowed. "Ringo and Macca has prepared éclairs for Master Harry and his guests!" he said excitedly. "Chocolate, vanilla, and every fruit imaginable! Would Master Weasley like?"

"Yeah!" Ron said and Dobby gave another bow before cracking away. Ron turned to Harry. "I know he almost got you killed once, mate, but I really like that elf."

…

"Another crab cake, Master Longbottom?"

"Oh, I'm stuffed, I couldn't possibly…" Neville shook his head at one of Harry's many elves (she had introduced herself as Ono, he believed) as she brandished a tray of hors d'oeuvres at him. The elf gave him a pout, and Neville caved, snagging one more. "Alright, one or two."

"Enjoy, Young Master!" the elf said in her warble of a voice, skipping away to serve more guests, and there were a lot. When Harry had sent him an invite, he'd imagined a small get-together of a few friends, like Neville's own birthdays had been. From the looks of things, he'd invited all of Gryffindor house to his godfather's for this party, and Neville was sure he saw a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws wending through the mass of people.

He was glad Harry was enjoying his newfound wealth and freedom, but he couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. He'd always felt a sort of kinship with Harry; both were the children of parents they never knew who had been killed (or close to it) by Voldemort's reign, and both were the shy, quiet type, with a close circle of friends. Now, Harry, it seemed, was turning into quite the socialite.

"Oi! Neville!"

He turned as he heard his name shouted above the din of muggle music blasting from a "sound system" in the corner, spotting Dean and Seamus wending their way through the crowd, toting drinks.

"You should meet Harry's godfather!" Dean said, cackling. "He's a riot!"

"He's trading stories with Fred and George Weasley," Seamus added while Dean took a drink. "We think they're long-lost relatives."

"He sounds like a fun guy," Neville said.

"Who you calling a mushroom!" a voice called behind Neville, and he jumped as a set of hands clapped onto his shoulders, giving him a shake.

"Glad you could make it, Neville," Hermione's voice said, and she walked into view, toting Harry behind. Harry gave him a little punch on the shoulder.

"Good to see you again, Nev," he said. "How's the Gran?"

"Ecstatic, actually," he said, rubbing his shoulder. "When she saw I'd gotten a birthday invitation from Harry Potter, she told me she thought there was hope for me yet. It's the best praise she's ever given me."

They all laughed at that, and Neville chuckled as well. The owner of the hands that had clutched his shoulders walked around him and tugged his hand into a shake.

"Black, Sirius Black," he said.

"Delighted," Neville said, quelling the momentary panic and being introduced to a man once thought to be a mass-murderer. "Neville Longbottom."

"Yeah, Harry's told me about you," Sirius said, grinning at him. "Says you've got a lot of heart."

He felt his face heating up at the praise, and Hermione smiled at him, tugging his arm. "Come over and sit with us, Neville! Ron's been wanting to see you again!"

Moments later, Neville was seated next to Ron, chatting quidditch while Harry and Hermione chatted in hushed tones on his other side. Down the table, Sirius was again chatting with the Weasley twins like old friends.

"Budge over, Ron," a new voice said, and Neville looked up to see a girl he then recognized as Ginny, Ron's little sister, standing with a plate of cake. "Oh, hi, Neville!"

"Hey, Ginny," Neville said with a little wave.

"Can't scoot, Gin," Ron said, nodding at the twins and Sirius, who were indeed hogging up the rest of the table.

"There's an empty over here," Neville said, pulling out the chair next to him, recently vacated by Alicia Spinnet, who was now dancing with Lee Jordan and not likely to stop soon. Smiling at him, Ginny sat and dug into her cake.

"Anyway, you were talking about Tutshill?" Neville asked. Ron blinked and nodded.

"Right!" he said, suddenly right back to his diatribe about bandwagon fans. "Well, since they got Rodney, they've been doing amazing, and now everyone's going, 'Let's root for Tutshill, 'cause they're good now!' It's sickening!"

"Did you ever hear what happened to Stuart?" Ginny asked, and the two looked over at her. "Traded to the Harpies."

"I'm sorry," Ron said with a snicker, and Ginny rolled her eyes.

"She's just a sit-in for Marx, since the whole shoulder thing," she said. "And she's actually doing better. Tutshill's just a bunch of chauvinist cads."

"You know quidditch, Ginny?" Neville asked, earning a smirk.

"I'm a Hollyhead fan," she said, and Neville chuckled.

"Aren't all girls?" he asked, and Ginny quirked an eyebrow at him while Neville gave him a not-so-subtle dig in the back. "Y'know, 'cause they're good role-models for…women being able to do all the stuff that men can do, sometimes better."

"Good save," Ginny smirked at him, taking another bite of her cake. "And, yes, I was originally a fan because they're the only all-woman team. But look at Ron. His favorite color growing up was orange, and that's why he's a Cannons fan."

"You know that's not true!" Ron said with an accusing point, and Ginny rolled her eyes, smirking and giving Neville a wink.

"So, I guess Harry's not coming back to Hogwarts this year," she said, sounding a little forlorn, and Ron sighed.

"Yeah, he's going to some American school because Hermione's mum and dad pulled her from Hogwarts."

"Why?" Neville asked. "Hogwarts is the safest place there is."

"Her parents don't think so," Ron said. "They heard about the troll and the philosopher's stone, and the basilisk, and that Lockhart bloke and the acromantulas, even though Hermione wasn't around for those."

"When you think about it, Hogwarts really isn't all that safe," Ginny said, staring down at her cake, her appetite apparently gone. "Think Mum and Dad would let us go that American school?"

Ron laughed. "Not likely. I guess we could ask, though."

"Wouldn't that be wicked, though?" Ginny asked excitedly. "I've never been to America. I hear their magical community is completely different from ours. There's no pureblood or muggleborn or half-blood, they're all just magic or non-magic. Muggle-borns from all over the world like to go to American schools just because of their stance on magic blood."

"Been talking to Hermione about it?" Ron asked.

"She's read about twenty books on the Magic United States," Ginny recited, "or the MUSA. We should talk to Mum, Ron. I bet if Harry went with us, she might let us."

"I don't think we're thinking of the same Molly Weasley," Ron said. "Still, she adores Harry, and if we go at the safety angle like Hermione's parents did, she can't really say no. If we don't feel safe, that's that."

"You can be really shrewd sometimes, Ronald," Ginny said admiringly, and Ron grinned, raising a bottle of Butterbeer and taking a drink.

…

Meanwhile, miles away, on a boat sailing for a secluded island in the middle of an unspecified body of water, a man sat hunched over, chained to a chair, apparently unconscious. On his wrist, a tattoo of a skull with a snake sticking out of the mouth burned red for the first time in over a decade, and as the man sat there, a pulse of dark energy burst out, invisible to the pair of aurors guarding him, but the dementor hovering in the corner slowly turned its hooded head toward the man. It sucked in a ragged breath but didn't move as the man's eyes fluttered open, carefully darting left and right before a small grin formed on his face.

"Hemmings," one auror said urgently, and the other sat up. Before they could do anything, though, the man shrank before their eyes. "Contact the Ministry! I'll subdue! You!" he pointed his want at the dementor. "Do something!"

The dementor lazily drifted toward the rat, but even as the man fired a stunner at him, the rat disappeared between a cracked door. By the time the auror managed to open it, there was no sign. Slamming his fist against the wall, the auror glared at two junior officers standing stunned on the other side of the door.

"Search the ship!" he shouted. "Find that rat!"

As the two nodded and hurried off, the auror turned back to Hemmings.

"Tell them the bastard got away," he said. "Peter Pettigrew is loose again."

…

_**Peter Pettigrew Escapes!**_

_Right-Hand Man to You-Know-Who Breaks Free of Auror Custody_

_by Miles Jakson_

_In a shocking turn of events last night, Peter Pettigrew, recently revealed to be not only alive, but a loyal Death Eater and spy for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named during his reign, broke free from auror custody mere hours before he was due to reach the island prison of Azkaban, where he was sentence to life. So far, the methods of his escape and his current whereabouts are unknown. The two aurors on guard, who wish to remain anonymous, are flummoxed as to his sudden break from captivity._

"_He had only just been stunned about a half hour before he got loose," one auror said. "He'd never shown any resistance to the curse before, and he should've been out at least another half hour."_

_The aurors on the scene went on to say that Pettigrew suddenly awoke and immediately transformed into his recently revealed animagus form, that of a rat._

"_He went rat, and we tried to stun him, but conditions were against us," the other auror said. "Dark room, rocking ship, and we weren't exactly expecting it to begin with."_

_The aurors themselves faced minimal punishment for the incident, which the Department of Magical Law Enforcement says "…[had] little precedent and arose due to circumstances both unknown and out of auror control at the time."_

_Currently, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is on full alert, as Pettigrew is a known Death Eater and You-Know-Who loyalist. Citizens are urged to stay indoors or only leave your homes in groups. Should you spot Pettigrew, do not confront him and contact the Ministry of Magic._

…

"How could this have happened?" Amelia Bones asked the two Aurors (Hemmings and Weye, if she recalled). "You say you refreshed the stunning spell every hour on the hour?"

"Yes, Madam Bones," Hemmings said. "By rights, he shouldn't even have been _awake_. Something woke him up."

"You checked him before loading him on the ship?" Bones asked.

"Absolutely," Weye responded. "I checked him myself, head to toe. He had nothing on him except his prison-issue robes."

"Nothing else could have sneaked into the room?"

"Not a chance," Hemmings said. "Bloom and Dale didn't see anything enter at any point. And Weye and I would've seen, anyway. We both made sure we were rested and even took energy draughts before we started the trip. No way we could've dozed off."

Bones sighed, rubbing her temples and nodding. "Very well. Dismissed."

As the two left, muttering angrily to each other, Amelia Bones let another long-suffering sigh and shook her head.

"I swear, when this is over, I'm retiring."

...

One review pointed out that my story lacked a coherent "overplot" (my word, not theirs); basically, it was just events and vignettes tied together by the barest of thin lines. I will resolve to fix that and throw in a little more of the "big stuff" without wrecking the lightheartedness I've achieved thus far.

Thanks, as always, for reading.

BTJ


	10. Chapter 10

Well, after catching the muse, hammering it into submission, and having my way with it, I finally managed this chapter.

Read away.

* * *

_August 4th, 1993  
__12:23 pm  
Number 12 Grimmauld Place, London, England  
_

"I'll kill him," Sirius growled, staring at the Daily Prophet, where Wormtail was still staring out of the front page under the headline: _Pettigrew Still At Large_.

"You may, but you're not going rat hunting anytime soon," Remus replied, fixing the longer-haired man with a stern look. "You've got a godson to take care of. James wouldn't want you getting yourself killed chasing after Wormtail."

"You think he could take me?" Sirius said with a rather doglike snarl. Remus rolled his eyes with a little nod.

"Honestly, I think he could handle either of us," he said. "Don't forget what he did to those twelve muggles. He hid being a Death Eater from us; who knows how strong he actually is with magic?"

Sirius let a noise of contempt, tossing the Daily Prophet into his fireplace, which wasn't lit but took the liberty of bursting into flame once the paper hit the logs. Out in the hall, the house was bustling with movement as Harry's army of house elves (and Dobby) packed up his belongings from the France manor, readying for the move over to Dunlap, North Carolina, where the McGildenhurst Central School was located. Hermione had left for her parents' home only a few days prior, packing up her own things before meeting Harry at the airport in two days. They would be travelling the muggle way, as trans-continental portkeys took a lot of paperwork and were quite expensive (Harry could afford it easily, but Sirius was eager to fly in a plane anyway.).

"Look," Remus said, "the point is, the Ministry knows you're innocent. They know who the real bad guy is now. They'll have dementors all over the country looking for Wormtail, and while they do that, Harry will be safely in America with his loving, doting godfather."

As if to underscore this point, said godson poked his head in the room, a huge grin on his face, Dobby on his heels.

"Padfoot," he said, "what did you do with my cloak?"

"Which one?" Sirius asked, quirking an eyebrow with a little smirk.

Harry rolled his eyes. "My black one with the Potter crest on it, since North Carolina is so chilly _my invisibility cloak_."

Chuckling, Sirius shrugged. "Haven't seen it," he said. "It is invisible after all."

Harry pointed his wand at Sirius. "Don't make me give you another flea dip, mongrel."

Remus burst out laughing while Sirius's eyes narrowed. "We agreed to never speak of that again."

"And you agreed to borrow the cloak only with my permission," Harry countered, stuffing his wand back in his pocket. "C'mooooon, Sirius, if I'm gonna take this McGildenhurst place by storm, Marauder style, I need the cloak."

He stared imploringly at Sirius, and Remus could see his resolve crumbling to pieces.

"Oh, it's in that great ugly brown chest in the attic," he said. "The one that's got the stain that looks like Snape on it."

"Thanks!" Harry said, dashing from the room, leaving the older pair in momentary silence before Remus spoke.

"He's got you wrapped around his pinkie, you know," he said matter-of-factly. Sirius huffed in response.

…

"Master Harry is excited to go overseas?" Dobby asked, ticking off "_Invisibility Cloak"_ on the list of items Harry wanted to make absolutely sure he had as the pair strolled through the hallways of Sirius's manor, which had transformed over the past few days from a musty old ruin to an immaculate Victorian manor that Harry might even like to visit for the occasional weekend.

"Nervous, but yes, I'm really excited," Harry admitted. "Hermione's been reading up on what it's like over there, and it sounds completely different from Wizarding Britain. In a good way, though."

"Dobby has never been to the United States before," the elf confided. "But as long as Dobby gets to help Master Harry Potter in any way he can, Dobby will be happiest!"

Giving the elf a grin, Harry, mounted another staircase. "I'll just be glad to be in a country where no one knows who I am. Apparently, the whole thing with me and Voldemort isn't nearly as big a deal as over here."

"But…" the elf looked baffled, "everyone should know what a great and wonderful person Master Harry is!"

Harry laughed as he stepped into the room containing the chest that supposedly contained his invisibility cloak. He made it a few steps before stopping and glaring at the chest. It seemed too easy, really, to simply walk up and open the thing. He looked down at Dobby, who was looking unsurely back up at his hesitation.

"Something wrong, Master Harry?"

Pulling out his wand, Harry gave it a few waves, muttering various detections charms taught to him by Harold and Charlus during their weekly lessons. Sure enough, Harry found that the chest was charmed to blast him with a skin-dying powder that would render him an unknown color for at least a few hours.

Harry smirked, whipping his wand and casting a quick dispelling charm that sent the booby trap flickering out of existence. At Dobby's questioning look, he explained, "Sirius thought he could pull an easy prank on me." He went to open the chest, undoing the lock. "Don't think he knows who he's – "

The rest of his comment was cut off as a giant boxing glove came flying out of the chest, catching Harry in stomach and sending him flying onto his back. The massive thing was heavily padded, feeling like nothing more than a giant pillow smacking him to the ground. As Harry watched, it coiled back on a giant spring, like a Jack-in-the-box, angling over his head as he lay on his back. Then, as if to punctuate the whole ordeal, his invisibility cloaked fluttered off of the end of the contraption, landing over him and causing him to vanish.

"I'll get him."

…

_To: apwbdumbledore _

_From: mugglelover777 _

_Subject: Re: Peter Pettigrew_

_Albus,_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt had already told me about what happened a few minutes before I got your mail. They're still baffled here; no one has any idea how Pettigrew could have gotten away. The guards say the only thing that seemed off was a little burst of "unpleasant feeling" before he escaped. No one here knows what that could possibly mean, but maybe you might know something. Any input would be appreciated._

_On a related note, we've decided to send our children to the school Harry's enrolling in, in the United States. I know you probably don't want to hear that, but Pettigrew's caused our family enough grief already. Ron looked stricken when I told him what happened. If this Pettigrew business ends quickly, we may even bring them right back over, depending on how they take this this McGildenhurst place. Until then, I think it's best to have him far away from England and all of this nastiness._

_Hope you're well,_

_Arthur_

Albus sipped dolefully at his firewhiskey, staring at the computer screen while Fawkes slumbered on his roost, the portraits around him doing the same. By rights, Albus should also have been in bed by this point; tomorrow would hold yet another day of preparations to open the newly made-over Hogwarts, setting to rights some apparently lacking safety practices and general policies.

All for a student who would apparently not be attending the school again.

He chided himself for thinking that way; these changes were for the safety of every student, current and future, not to simply entice Harry back in some Machiavellian scheme. He certainly knew the boy had the potential to play a sizeable role in the future of the wizard world, but his physical and mental well-being was first and foremost, as with any of the headmaster's charges.

Then why did Harry being so far away give him such a nagging worry in the back of his mind?

He knew that Tom wasn't completely dead, as the events of the past two years had only served to emphasize. And now, with Peter Pettigrew on the loose and almost certainly searching for a way to restore his defeated master to some semblance of life, the thought of Harry, who had unwittingly landed himself in an integral role in all of this, overseas….

Perhaps, he allowed himself, some degree of strategy was at play, even if he didn't like to think of himself as such a man anymore. But, more than anything, he didn't want to let Harry down again.

"Ah," he said to his quiet office, his soft voice seeming to ring in the still air. "That explains it."

Harry leaving, deciding to take his schooling elsewhere, was the final nail in the proverbial coffin, his dismissal of Albus as any sort of protector, and fond as he was of the boy, that just wouldn't do. But nor would coercing him back to Hogwarts or, worse still, forcing or manipulating him, work any better.

Perhaps ensuring his safety while overseas, then? A guardian of sorts to watch over Harry and keep tabs on him for Albus. Even as he thought this, a perfect candidate jumped to mind. Grabbing a pen and parchment, he quickly jotted down a short reminder and stuck it to his screen with a tap of his wand, powering down the computer and making for his bed, satisfied with his plan.

…

How things had changed, yet remained so similar, he mused to himself as he stared at his own face, watery eyes gazing back at him from the wanted poster, which was unmoving due to being posted in a muggle village. Mere weeks ago, it had been Sirius's face glaring at passerby, the posters announcing his escape, his status as man on the run.

Now, the truth was out.

All thanks to Harry Potter.

He hated the boy, loathed everything about him, his near-identical resemblance to his father, Peter's friend and protector growing up.

But his emerald green eyes were the worst, staring at him, full of accusations, reminding him on the beautiful woman whose life was brought to an early end because of him.

He was, essentially, a walking embodiment of Peter's self-loathing, his weakness. A constant reminder of everything he threw away.

And for what? A deadly master who was nothing more than a painful memory for most and an obsessive rallying cause for others. Peter knew for a fact that the Dark Lord had appeared in Hogwarts two years ago, even confronted Harry Potter a second time, but by all accounts, he'd been a shade of his former self, barely able to keep his host body together.

Ducking into an alley, Peter reached into his pocket, drawing out the long, thin wand that belonged to his former master and staring at it, pondering.

He had no friends to go back to, no family that would accept him. The Death Eaters would likely be less than accommodating, no doubt believing that he had sent the Dark Lord to his death. The Dark Lord himself was who-knew-where and in no state to really do much of anything.

Leaving the country seemed a nice alternative. Perhaps setting up a life as a muggle in, say, Australia or perhaps Canada. If Voldemort returned, he would simply go straight to him and hope that he was feeling merciful. He knew a man in Italy that could set up an "off the books" portkey for a hefty sum, but it would be a simple matter to scrounge up that much money on the way. Peter's animal form was well-suited for petty theft.

Glancing quickly around to ensure that no one was watching, Peter, leaned forward as his form shrank, the world growing around him until he was skittering along the alley on his tiny clawed hands, bound for…somewhere.

…

"Packed already?" Hermione's mum asked, poking her head into the room. "I was just going to ask if I could help."

Hermione looked up from her book ("_Magical Education in the United States"_) and gave her mum a smile as she shook her head. "Ringo and Macca showed up earlier and said that Harry had asked if they could help me pack up. I barely had to lift a finger."

"I hope you thanked them somehow," Mum said, moving into her room and sitting at the foot of her bed, the mattress dipping creakily. "Those elves of his are so sweet."

"I offered them a drink or some food," Hermione said, marking her spot in her book, "but they said it would be 'inappropriate to accept such extravagant rewards'. So I sent a letter home with them telling Harry to make sure they at least got some butterbeer for their trouble."

"You two are so adorable together," her mum remarked, causing her daughter's face to heat up.

"Muuuum," she whined, only serving to amuse the older woman.

"It's true, though," she pressed. "He's absolutely crazy about you. Even your dad likes him, and he swore up and down when you were just a baby that any boy that tried to get near you before you were eighteen would be in for a world of hurt."

Hermione rolled her eyes, realizing that sounded just like her father.

"Now, I think he's just glad you found someone who…well, accepts you," her mum went on. "You're the smartest girl I've ever known, and so many boys would be intimidated by that or feel inadequate or, heaven forbid, try to bring you down because of it. Harry…I think he likes you all the more because of it."

"It's saved his life more than once," Hermione said. Her mum only sighed, long since ranted out about the dangers of Hogwarts.

"What I'm trying to say, sweetie," she said, "is that your father and I are very happy for you. And, no matter what, we're so proud of you, of everything you've accomplished."

Hermione felt a lump beginning to form in her throat as she wrapped her arms around her mum, squeezing her tightly.

"Somehow, it's different this time," she said. "I mean, I was going far away when I went to Hogwarts, but…I'll be across the ocean. In a whole different country. I'm so excited, but…it's kind of scary, too."

"You'll be fine, sweetie," Mum insisted. "Like I've said, you're the smartest girl I know, and I went to medical school."

That got a laugh from her daughter, and the older woman poked her in the stomach. "And remember, you'll have Harry every step of the way. I daresay that boy would go to the ends of the earth for you."

And as much as that comment was intended as an exaggeration, Hermione couldn't help but feel that such a situation was possible in this strange world she'd come to inhabit.

…

_August 5, 1993  
7:49 am  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland  
_

Albus rapped sharply on the massive wooden door, the knock disappearing into the misty morning air of the grounds. In the distance, a construction crew was working on building a massive brick and iron wall around the Forbidden Forest. It was barely past eight in the morning, but even Hagrid's propensity for a few tankards of mead before bed wouldn't keep him from rising early.

"Oh, mornin', Professor Dumbledore," the gamekeeper's deep rumbling voice came from behind him, and Albus turned with a smile to see the massive man carrying a rucksack labeled _Pumkins._

"Ah, Hagrid. How goes your morning?"

Hagrid smiled beneath his beard. "Jes' plantin' the pumpkins," he held the sack up. "Gotta get 'em in the ground now if they're ter grow nice an' big fer the Halloween feast."

Albus chuckled. "You never disappoint, Hagrid. I'm afraid, though, I have to ask a favor that will take you away from your gamekeeping duties for the foreseeable future."

Hagrid blinked, his massive brow furrowing in confusion. "Wha' you mean, Professor?"

"I am afraid that Harry will not be returning to Hogwarts this year."

"What?" Hagrid bellowed, his loud voice scaring off a few birds in the distance. "No, no, he can' leave Hogwarts. We jes' got everythin' all up to snuff!"

"Be that as it may," Albus went on, "Hermione Granger's parents are reluctant to send her back, understandably so. And Harry has grown rather fond of her, thus he goes where she goes. That is where you come in."

"What d'yeh need, Professor?"

"There is no guarantee that Harry will be completely free of danger in America. Trouble as a habit of following him around, and with Peter Pettigrew on the loose, we have every reason to be worried for him."

"Yeh wan' me to keep an eye on 'im?"

"Yes," Albus took a sip of his tea, reaching a hand out as Fang clicked over and scratching the dog behind the ears. "He has Sirius, but I would feel better knowing that you were there as well. Your presence alone would probably deter all but the most stubborn of foes."

Hagrid blinked. "Yeh wan' me ter go keep an eye on Harry? I'd be honored, Professor. But who'll be gamekeeper while I'm gone?"

"We'll find someone," Albus assured him. "Harry's safety is our first priority, however, and I believe you will be a great help to that end."

"O' course, Professor," Hagrid said earnestly. "I'll guard him wit' my life."

"I knew I could count on you, Hagrid," Albus said, and Hagrid beamed with pride.

…

Harry yawned, blinking blearily as he sat in a hard plastic chair, sipping at cup of cocoa Sirius had bought for him a donut shop nearby. Sirius himself was next to him, also dozing in his seat. It was about seven in the morning, an hour Harry was not fond of being awake to witness. The pair were sitting in an airport terminal, awaiting the seven-thirty flight to North Carolina (Harry forgot the name of the city), where they would then hop a shuttle van to Dunlap. All around them, people moved with varying degrees of urgency through the airport, toting bags, suitcases, briefcases, all kinds of cases. Overhead, every few minutes, a cool female voice would announce an arrival, a departure, a delay, a lost child, and once, a code fourteen in gate 4C, which had sent about four security guards running frantically to an escalator.

He felt himself start to nod off again. His head dipped before it was caught by a slim pair of hands, and seconds later, he felt a puff of air on his face.

"Wake up, sleepy," a voice whispered in his ear, and his eyes opened to see Hermione smiling at him. He grinned, standing and wrapping her in a hug.

"Hey, you," he said, and she giggled, pulling away and planting a little kiss on his lips.

"Hey, yourself," she replied. "Are the poor boys sleepy?"

"Neither of us is what you'd call a morning person."

She laughed at that, moving over and leaning down to stare into Sirius's sleeping face. She smirked. "I heard he gave you a bit of a pranking yesterday. That true?"

"That it is."

She pouted. "He should know better than to pick on my boyfriend. "_Magnus eructo_." She tapped Sirius on the nose, and he began to shudder, though he didn't wake just yet.

"What did you do?" Harry asked, already grinning. Hermione walked back over and took his arm, wrapping it around him.

"Just watch," she whispered in his ear. Sirius's eyes suddenly shot open, and upon spotting Hermione with her wand just barely visible up her sleeve, opened his mouth to say something –

And belched. Hugely. This monster of a burp echoed off the walls of the airport and turned heads all around. It lasted a definite ten to fifteen seconds before Sirius went quiet and slumped, clutching his stomach with a grunted, "That was painful…."

As one, the pair burst out laughing, Harry moving to slump into his seat with Hermione plopping down next to him and collapsing onto his shoulder in a fit of giggles. After a few seconds, Sirius joined in, his laughter punctuated by the occasional burp.

…

It was amazing how socks could simply move around, seemingly of their own free will.

"Ron! Your mangy cat scratched up my broomstick!"

Ron glared at Fred, scratching Crookshanks behind the ears as his older brother held up his Cleansweep Five, which was sporting a few noticeable claw marks along the handle.

"Maybe you shouldn't have sneaked that flatulence elixir into my soup last night," he replied, stuffing a shirt into one of his many trunks and facing the shorter Weasley. "I think Crookshanks got mad and wanted some revenge."

"Why, 'cause you stunk up the room last night?" Fred asked with a smirk, his twin appearing over his shoulder and peering curiously into the room.

"Oi, I found your quidditch gloves," he said, tapping the garments in question against Fred's head. "What's with the pre-duel atmosphere?"

"I showed you what his cat did to my broomstick," Fred complained defensively, holding up the Cleansweep again.

"Oh, get out of it, Fredward," George said, tapping his doppelganger on the forehead. "Gonna let an ickle pussy get the best of your broomstick?'

There was a stunned five seconds of silence before Fred shook his head slowly. "You really just said that. I can't believe you really just said that."

"C'mon," George said, taking Fred's collar and tugging. "We need to pack up last night's research endeavor before Mum finds it."

With one last glare, Fred allowed himself to be dragged away, leaving Ron to chuckle quietly to himself as he gave Crookshanks another affectionate scratch around the ears.

"Good cat."

…

Across the ocean, in a small corner office in what appeared on the surface to be a completely normal high school, a black-haired young man sighed in boredom, his eyes darting longingly to his window, which showcased another beautiful day in Dunlap, North Carolina. Still, there was work to be done. McGildenhurst Magical Academy was taking on quite a few new students, seven of them from overseas. There were forms to fill out, accommodations to be made, and courtesy letters to parents (assuring them that the school would take the utmost care of their children) to be sent.

Leon Mason had a busy day ahead of him.

Sighing again (he was doing that far too much), he leaned back, tugging his glasses off and rubbing his sleepy eyes. As he sat there, a knock sounded on his door, the last one punctuated by a worrying snapping sound that told him whatever was knocking was about to break his door.

"C'min!" he called, and the door opened. As his visitor entered, Leon was glad for the school's high-ceiling rooms and magically reinforced floors. The sheer size of the man was obscene, really. No person that big should have been allowed to exist.

Chastising himself and telling himself that even huge people were people to, Leon gave the huge man a cordial nod. His face and head were dominated by thick bushy hair the color of coal, giving him the appearance of a sasquatch, albeit one that had been hitting the growth elixir a little hard.

"'Lo there," the man said, nodding back in a little head-bow. "Name's Rubeus Hagrid. Keeper of keys and grounds at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Ah, Hagrid," Leon said, the name sparking in his memory. "Professor Dumbledore told me about you. Nothing but good things, of course."

Hagrid smiled at that, moving across the room and peering calculatingly at one of the small metal chairs across from Leon's desk. Opting wisely to stand instead (the chair would undoubtedly crumple under his weight), the large man chose to simply stand smartly as he spoke.

"Professor Dumbledore sends his regards and a letter," he said, reaching into a pocket of his thick coat and fishing out a small white envelope. At least, the envelope looked small in his beefy hand as he held it out. Leon took it and quickly extricated the letter.

_Mr. Mason_

_First, greetings to you, and I hope this letter finds you in good health and spirits. Since our many f-mail exchanges, I've come to count you as a good friend, and I hope the feeling is reciprocated. This is why I have sent Hagrid here to introduce himself._

_You've no doubt heard that Harry Potter and a cadre of his friends will be attending the school at which you work this coming term. I could not convince him to stay and would never dream of coercing or forcing him to do so. However, this does present a dilemma, as I do regard the boy rather highly, and I do not believe that he has seen the last of the troubles life has to offer for him. Thus, I have sent Hagrid to watch over him and see that any trouble that does find him is met with extreme prejudice._

_This leads to a request. If you could keep Hagrid abreast of any suspicious happenings you notice, I would be deeply grateful. Despite his appearance, Hagrid is one of the noblest men I know, and he would give his life for Harry's safety._

_Thank you for any assistance you can offer._

_Yours most sincerely,_

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

Leon felt himself grinning as he set the letter down, giving it a little shake of the head.

"He sure knows how to spin some words," he said to no one in particular, though the giant man gave him a chuckle.

"I always tol' 'im he shoulda run fer Minister o' Magic," he said, and Leon had to listen intently to pick through some of his accent. "Albus Dumbledore could convince a fish ter start hatin' water."

Leon laughed at that, saving his progress on the current document and standing with a little stretch.

"I would be happy to help you keep an eye on Harry Potter," he said. "His flight's due in the next day or so, I believe, but until then, how do you feel about heading down to Mosley's for beer and some chicken wings?"

Hagrid's smile grew wider. "I think I could get ter like yeh, Mr. Mason."

…

"Kreacher was always so alone, so alone. Once, his home was full of the greatest the Black family had to offer, but then, they were all gone, and it was just you and Kreacher, Mistress."

_Tragic…. _Again, her voice seemed to float through Kreacher's head, smooth and calming. _Kreacher was such a devoted elf. It's a shame that all of that should come to naught._

"Such a shame," Kreacher repeated, shaking his head, staring into the locket's depths as he trailed a finger gently down the side of the smooth metal. "A shame that Kreacher's mistress was reduced to such a state, a shame that Kreacher should have to watch you suffer alone."

_And then, _the voice sympathized, its tone full of commiseration, _to be kicked from our house, thrown aside like garbage. Kreacher deserves better, doesn't he?_

"Deserves better…." Kreacher nodded. "Kreacher deserves much better. To be cast aside like this by the little blood-traitor brat! Kreacher will teach him a lesson! But…Kreacher doesn't know if he is powerful enough…."

_Then let Mistress empower Kreacher,_ the voice said. _Kreacher will be able to exact his revenge, not only on Mistress's brat of a child, but on all like him. Kreacher will be able to carry on Mistress's wishes and annihilate mudbloods and blood-traitors alike!_

"Yes, Mistress," Kreacher said, still caressing the necklace, which had begun to glow a sickly green. "Kreacher will do as Mistress commands…."

…

* * *

So, hopefully next chapter will feature far less perspective changes, since everyone will be back together again. Hopefully. Also, the Gollum/Kreacher parallels are meant to blatantly intentional.

Next chapter will (tentatively) feature some pretty exciting stuff. Thanks for reading and for you interminable patience with my sporadic publishing schedule.

BTJ


	11. Chapter 11

Okay, so this chapter isn't nearly as action-packed as I planned. Still, I like to think it's a good read, even if most of it was written several months ago, and I just got around to finishing up the end. I was really gearing up for a beach episode, but it just never materialized. Instead, expect fluff and the barest hintings of the coming plot.

Enjoy!

…

_August 7, 1993_

_8:53 am_

_Dunlap, North Carolina_

Smoothing her pale, cream-colored skirt and making sure her lavender tank-top was setting just right on her shoulders (lest she show _too _much bra strap), Hermione knocked firmly on the pale blue door that read _5A_. Her flat—apartment, if she was feeling particularly American—_5B_, was directly across the hall. Percy, Ron, Ginny, and the twins lived across the street in another building, though the two buildings were part of the same complex.

When no one answered the door, she knocked again, a little more firmly. Seconds later, it opened, and a stooped old man with a beak of a nose and greatly protruding ears answered. He was dressed in a white shirt and black tie with black pinstriped pants. His eyes were quite huge and startlingly green, while his liver-spotted head was shiny and bald.

"Hello, Dobby," Hermione said with a smile. The old man gave Hermione a toothy smile and immediately shrank down into the familiar house-elf that Hermione knew, though she noticed he was still wearing his impeccably tailored suit. "Nice suit."

"Thank you, Miss Granger!" Dobby said, showing her in. "Master Harry Potter took Dobby to Joseph A Banks's magical division and had seven suits specially tailored for him!"

She smiled at Harry's generosity, strolling through the immaculate apartment behind the elf. The whole place was silent, though she could hear a fan humming down the hallway to her left. "Honestly, is he still sleeping at this hour?" she quirked an eyebrow and folded her arms.

Dobby chuckled. "Masters Harry and Sirius were up late last night playing computer games," he gestured at a room as they walked down the hallway. Hermione peeked in and saw a room stacked with at least four computers, monitors, TVs, printers, and other devices Hermione couldn't identify.

"Are those magicomputers?" she asked. Dobby nodded.

"Masters Harry and Sirius also went to Best Buy and 'cleaned house', as Master Sirius said."

They reached Harry's room, and Dobby bowed as she opened the door.

"Dobby will go start breakfast now. Would Miss Granger like Belgian waffles?"

"That sounds delightful," Hermione whispered, stepping into Harry's room. Like the rest of his apartment, it was spotlessly kept, courtesy of Dobby no doubt. A large box fan sat in the window directly across from her, turned on full blast and blowing chilly morning air into the room. To her left, along the wall, a queen-sized bed carried the object of her mounting affections.

Harry's black hair was growing longer by the day, the tousled mess billowing over his pillow as he lay there. The blankets were pulled back a bit, exposing a bare back and shoulders; it had been a warm night last night.

She smiled and kneeled on the mattress, the creaky springs dipping under her weight as she leaned over him, nuzzling his neck.

"Har-ryyy," she whispered in a singsong voice, blowing a puff of air into his ear. "Time to wake up, lazy-bum."

She felt him stir beneath her, and she craned her neck to plant a little kiss against his nose. "If you're out of bed in the next minute, you get to spend time with me until Dobby finishes breakfast. Just the two of us."

"I'm up," he muttered immediately, his voice still thick with sleep as he rolled beneath her, tripping her up and causing her to fall flat on top of him, giggling. "Mn, wow. Wish I woke up like this every morning." He wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Now get up. My breath is too horrible for any good quality snogging."

She laughed and crawled from his bed, helping him up. "Well, we wouldn't want our snogging to be anything but the best caliber."

"Indubitably," he replied, and this set her giggling again. "Back in sec."

She smiled at him as he gathered up some clothes and made his way across the hall to the bathroom, banging on Sirius's door as he passed it. "Oi! Wake up, mongrel!"

Hermione smiled, looking around his room. Along one wall sat a simple wooden dresser, a bookshelf situated next to it. The other wall was made up of his bed, though a laundry hamper sat at the other end. There was also a closet packed with a broomstick, quidditch supplies, and all manner of magical goods.

She strolled over to the bookshelf and eyed his collection. There was one shelf devoted to a fledgling manga collection, another to Discworld, which Hermione had insisted he start reading. The lower shelves were all movies.

She moved back and sat on the bed, smiling as she heard Sirius clambering tiredly down the hallway, calling for coffee. Minutes later, Harry strolled back into the room, wearing a pair of black jeans and a sea-blue shirt with some American clothing logo on it. He grinned and crawled over her as she lay back on his bed.

"Good morning, Harry," she said softly with a little smile, and he planted his lips lingeringly against hers.

"Morning, Hermione."

…

Sirius yawned widely as Dobby set a cup of coffee (two sugars, just a hint of milk) in front of him before going back to making waffles. He'd made his way out to the kitchen and immediately deposited himself on a barstool at the kitchenette counter. Behind him was the proper dining area, but this way, he was closer to the coffee pot. Apparently, Harry and Hermione were in Harry's room, snogging or shagging or something. He sipped idly at the hot beverage, his mind already waking up in the first few drinks.

Before he was even halfway through his cup, though, a knock sounded on the door. He glanced up to see Dobby in the middle of pouring batter on the waffle iron.

"I got it," Sirius said, standing and ignoring the elf's protests as he moved into the entry way and opened the door, finding four heads of red hair greeting him. The boys looked about how he felt, Ron rubbing sleep from his eyes. Ginny, oddly, looked quite chipper, smiling up at Sirius.

"Oi, you lot," he said, stepping back to let them in. "Coffee?"

"Coffee," the twins chorused, beelining for the kitchen, Ron hot on their heels. Ginny rolled her eyes at the three and looked back at Sirius.

"Harry and Hermione?"

"They're having a moment in Harry's room," he said, and Ginny blinked before blushing, her eyes widening.

"Oh! Well…good for them."

"It's not _that_ kind of moment," Sirius assured her as they made their way to the kitchen as well. "Least, I don't think it is. Harry's too passive, and Hermione seems like the type that would wait for that sort of thing."

"Getting away from the topic of my friends' sex lives," Ginny said, and Sirius barked a laugh, "we were wondering if you lot wanted to go to Topsail beach. There's something called an f-gate that'll take you there every hour on the hour for about five dollars."

Here in the states, magic and muggle society both used the same currency, though a magical bank account was supposed to be quite a bit safer than a muggle one.

"I'm up for a trip to the beach," Sirius said. "It'll be nice to get out of this apartment at last. I think the furthest we've gone is a petrol station down the road for ice cream and beer. And we were all a bit jet-lagged."

"Alright," Ginny said, looking pleased as she inhaled the scent of waffles. "Mmmm, that smells delicious."

"You're welcome to stay for some waffles," Sirius said, going back to his coffee and spotting the three boys at the kitchen table, all sipping coffee. "What about your brother? Percy, was his name?"

As one, the Weasleys rolled their eyes. Ron spoke up. "He told us we should be doing something more responsible than 'frittering our time away at the beach'. He's just mad because he's in for one more year of school than he would've gotten at Hogwarts."

"This McGildenhurst place is keeping you 'til you're eighteen, eh?"

"That's how it works over here," Harry said, strolling out with Hermione in tow. Sirius noticed that she was trying to covertly smooth the front of her shirt. "You're not an adult 'til you're eighteen."

"Which is rubbish," Fred said (or maybe it was George?) as he set his coffee down, grinning when Dobby appeared with a plate of waffles. "Excellent. Thanks, Dobby."

"You is most welcome, Master Weasley!"

They all sat and tucked in to the breakfast, which was the Dobby-standard delicious. While they ate, Ron filled in Hermione and Harry in on the planned beach trip.

"We were planning on heading out pretty soon, so we can spend all day there and get back before it gets too dark, y'know?"

"That sounds brilliant," Harry said. "I've never been to the beach. We should invite Hagrid!"

"I dunno," Ron said. "Can you picture Hagrid walking up the beach in swim trunks?"

"Ronald, don't be rude," Hermione scoffed. "Besides, I'm sure even _Hagrid_ would wear a shirt or something."

"He's staying with that one bloke from the school, right?" Ron asked. "What if he wants to come along?"

"The more the merrier," Hermione said. "I'll call him after breakfast."

…

Meanwhile, out in a rural street just on the outskirts of town, two wizards were having their own sleepy morning.

Leon's eyes blearily cracked open, crusty with a hard night's sleep. He rolled onto his side and realized that he was in fact not sleeping in his bed; in actuality, he was on the floor of the old barn behind his house. It had been decades since it was used for its original purpose, of course. Now, it was the epicenter of some of the hardest parties on Road 15.

He sat up and fumbled around for his glasses, finding them broken in three clean pieces under his booted foot (along with half a dozen empty Smirnoff bottles). He must have slogged through the wheat fields nearby at some point last night; there was no other reason he would be wearing his steel-toes. Giving the glasses a tap and a silent repairing charm, he slid them into place.

Only then did he notice he had a couple of guests.

"Oh."

He recognized the first guest as Rubeus Hagrid, who he had invited to stay in the barn, as no place in town was big enough for the half-giant to stay for any extended period of time. Dozing on the man's massive stomach was an equally massive dog, though Leon could only guess the breed as some sort of hunting dog. Rubbing his face, he stood shakily, the movement aggravating a splitting headache he only just noticed he had. Definitely, it was time for some McDoul's Highland Hangover Cure-All.

Before he could make for his house, though, the phone situated on the back wall of the barn rang, the shrill sound piercing his skull, causing him to groan, which served to irritate an already sore throat.

_Never challenge a half-giant with a Scottish accent to a drinking game. That had bad news written all over it._

He finally made it to the phone and mumbled something that he was sure sounded at least vaguely like a greeting.

"Prof—er, Mister Mason?"

"Hermione? You need to talk to Hagrid?"

"Well, no, not really. We just wanted to invite you two to Topsail Beach. We're all going in about half an hour."

"Well…I do like the beach," he said. And it had been a while since he'd really taken a day for himself. "Alright, lemme wake this guy up, and we'll head right over."

"He's still sleeping? It's nearly eleven o'clock."

Leon chuckled at that. "We'll see you in a bit, Hermione."

After saying their goodbyes and hanging up, Leon turned to see the dog staring up at him, blinking his big black eyes.

"You're lucky I have a dog of my own, so I happen to have some food for you," he said, leading the way to his house, the massive dog padding along behind him. "Just don't, like…eat my dog."

…

"Have you heard from Hagrid?" Minerva said over the rim of her teacup, taking a sip and setting it down with the smallest of clacks. "I trust his trip went well."

"He seems to have bonded with young Mr. Mason," Albus said, dropping a couple of cubes in his tea and giving them a stir before taking a sip of his own. "The two are becoming fast friends. In addition, Leon has a dog, so Fang has a playmate as well."

Minerva nodded, but Albus couldn't miss the almost wistful look on her face as she stared out the window of his office. "Curse it, I'm going to miss that boy." She sounded almost angry about the fact.

"Now, now, Minerva," he said with a small chuckle. "It's not goodbye forever, after all. Perhaps, once word of the changes to Hogwarts gets out, he'll return after a year."

"And go through all the trouble of another transfer?" Minerva shook her head slightly, taking another sip. "I think Hogwarts has lost Harry Potter and his friends for good."

"The point," Albus countered, "is that Harry is happy. Not Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, but Harry, the young man who has had a hard life, in no small part to my negligence, I'll admit. If transferring to a school abroad where he won't be burdened by fame or the expectations of others is what he wants, who are we to impose any different upon him?"

Minerva gave him a rueful look. "Hagrid's right," she said. "You have a knack for getting people to see your way."

"Ah, Minerva," Albus said with a nod, "it is that very gift that has gotten me into no end of trouble."

…

Halfway across the globe, Hermione was startled from her relaxing sunbathing to find Harry clapping his hands to his forehead on the towel next to her. He'd clambered from the surf to take a brief rest from the game of chicken the twins, Ron, and Ginny were playing. Each twin had a sibling perched on his shoulders, and the matches seemed to be getting more and more intense. Ron and Ginny were resorting to fists.

"You alright, Harry?"

"Scar," he said, an all too common explanation for his head pains. "It's fine now."

"Are you sure?" She fixed him with a look, and he smirked at her.

"It's fine, Hermione," he said, reaching up to tap at the scar. "Just a little spike. It does that now and again."

She wouldn't be deterred that easily, though. "You should at least mention it to Sirius. Even if it's nothing, there's always the chance that it _is_ something."

He gave her that heart-skipping smile, and she found herself blushing a bit as he leaned in to touch noses with her. "I'd go insane without you, you know."

"I'm aware of that," she smiled back, pressing her lips against his in a little kiss. "Lucky for you, the feeling is mutual."

"Only lucky for me?" he smirked, and now her heart was melting. She really did put it through a lot. "I think you benefit just as much, Granger."

"Touché, Potter," she shot back, and he chuckled, kissing her forehead and standing.

"Drinks?" he asked, reaching a hand down to tug her to her feet. "That snack bar down the way sells smoothies, and I think they have peach. Your favorite, right?"

She took his hand and tugged him along. "What a considerate boyfriend. What's my favorite color?"

"Green, of course." He poked her bikini's shoulder strap, which was the same color (a modest but not overly conservative number from Macy's).

"Favorite food?"

"Meal or snack?"

"Hmmm, both."

"Meal is currently bourbon chicken with brown rice and steamed veggies. Snack is the chocolate cinnamon roll from that Cinnabon down the road."

"Favorite movie?"

"The Princess Bride."

"Favorite band?"

"The Goo Goo Dolls. Favorite song," he added, cutting her off, "is Slide."

"Favorite book of all time?"

"The Man from La Mancha."

"Favorite quote from said book?"

"'What is illness to the body of a knight errant? What are wounds? For when he falls, he shall rise again, and woe to the wicked! Sancho!'"

"'Here, your grace!'" Hermione giggled, uncaring that people were beginning to stare.

"'My armor! My shield!'"

"'More misadventures!'"

"'Adventures, old friend'," he finished, taking her hand and smoothly transitioning as he turned to the smoothie salesperson and spoke very calmly with virtually no expression. "Two peach smoothies, and add some raspberry to one, please."

Hermione couldn't help it; she burst into laughter.

…

"Those two have more chemistry than any couple I've ever seen, ever," Leon remarked, taking a sip of his drink (a mango smoothie from the same stall Harry and Hermione were currently patronizing).

"Ain' it th' truth," Hagrid added, taking a long draw from his own drink, one of those large Gatorade coolers that football teams usually used, filled to the brim with iced tea. Sirius could only marvel at the absurdity of the whole thing.

"I'm telling you, if she had been born later and I believed in reincarnation, I'd swear that girl was Lily's next life." He wasn't nursing a drink, though he was on his third funnel cake, having taken an instant shine to the fried snack. "It's uncanny, how alike they are."

"Too righ'," Hagrid said. "Almos' slipped up 'n' called her Lily on more'n one occasion."

At that moment, two dogs strode over, one the familiar massive boarhound, Fang (toting an entire tree branch, leaves and all, which Hagrid proceeded to hurl out of the sight for the dog to fetch) followed closely by a miniature dachshund with a round belly and a seemingly perpetually wagging tail.

"Lukaaaaas!" Leon crooned, grabbing the little dog in his arms. If possible, the dog's tail started wagging even faster.

"Speaking of lovesick," Sirius muttered, and Leon smirked at him.

"Oh, come on, look at that face!" he said, turning Lukas's face to Sirius. The dog stared at him with wide brown eyes, and Sirius had to chuckle, reaching out to pat him on the head. "See? Irresistible."

At that moment, two university girls strolled by and, spotting the puppy, stopped to fawn over the furry brown blob. As Sirius watched Leon shamelessly flirt with the pair, he had to admit that maybe Leon's fondness of his dog wasn't entirely misplaced.

…

_August 28, 1993_

_Neville,_

_How you been, mate? Thanks again for coming to my birthday party. I hope you had fun. It was my first ever real birthday party with all my schoolmates, and I wanted to make sure they all had as good a time as me._

_Sorry to hear your gran isn't letting you come to America, but don't worry yourself too much over it. I'm sure you'll still have a great time. Dean and Seamus will still be there, and from what I'm hearing, you'll have a lot more chances to make friends from other houses. Just don't let Malfoy give you a hard time._

_Hard to believe summer's almost over, hm? But it also feels like so much has happened this summer, it feels like it's been a lot longer than just a few months. I mean, I went to France, learned I have a few dozen houses, got a godfather, moved to America, and just today, we got back from a beach trip. Ron and Ginny almost killed each other wrestling in the water. Also, Ginny told me to tell you to expect a letter from her soon enough._

_I'll miss spending time with you and the other Gryffindors. I'll admit I'll miss Hogwarts a lot. But I'd miss Hermione a lot more, and her parents will likely take a bit of convincing before they let her go back. In the meantime, tell everyone we're thinking about them._

_Keep in touch._

_Regards,_

_Harry_

Neville sighed as he read the letter, setting it next to the one he'd gotten from Hogwarts, along with a pamphlet detailing the various changes Professor Dumbledore was enacting in the school (which had elicited a near hour's worth of ranting from his Gran). Reaching for a marker, he ticked off another day on the calendar setting on his desk. Four days until Hogwarts. On the one hand, he couldn't wait to be shot of his Gran, who meant well but was overbearing at the best of times, insufferable at the worst. On the other hand, most of his social circle (paltry to begin with) would be missing this year, and he wasn't exactly a social butterfly.

Still, he couldn't get down; Harry was facing a whole new country, a new school, and a completely new student body. Neville would just have to branch out a bit more, which seemed trifling in comparison. In Ginny's letter, she had mentioned a friend of hers, Luna Lovegood, who didn't seem to have many friends outside of Ginny herself. She'd beseeched Neville to at least keep an eye on her, as she was a bit eccentric and prone to being bullied because of it.

Maybe, he pondered, he could track down the girl and accompany her on the train ride. With their friends gone overseas, they at least had one topic to bond over.

And maybe she was a quidditch fan like Ginny.

…

He glanced down at the pale, still body of the elf, nudging it with his foot. In a way, he admired the creature's dedication to its betters, its willingness to give its life for a noble cause. Even so, he was disappointed that the elf had lacked for information about recent events. Being locked up in a manor for over a decade would do that, he supposed.

He needed a wand. And, before that, directions on how to get to one. Surely Diagon Alley was still the place to go for wizard purchases, and that Ollivander would likely still be hanging on to life. Apparating would prove tricky, but he was Lord Voldemort. He could handle it. The only likely snag was the potential that everyone that saw him would panic on sight, a likely possibility if his plans for war had indeed come to fruition. While an amusing prospect, he wanted his triumphant return to be a little more…ostentatious.

Reaching up, he pinched the air near his right ear and made as though to tug a balaclava across his face, the item in question materializing from a misty black smoke as he did so. Next, he repeated the gesture, fashioning a hood from nothingness. Settling his cloak about him, he spun in place, disapparating with a small cracking sound.

…

Hoooosnap.

Review, please.


	12. Chapter 12

Drunk, eating soup, posting this despite wanting to milk a few more reviews of my last chapter in a desperate attempt to stroke my ego.

Also getting rid of the date/time/place things, because I feel like they serve next to no purpose.

This chapter ran long because I needed to basically establish and describe an entire school campus, which takes many words. I tried my best to keep it from being an infodump, but it is, at best, a cunningly disguised infodump…and it worst, a poorly disguised one.

Next chapter will see more action. Most probably.

Read on!

* * *

Albus sighed as he reread the f-mail from Sirius, glancing down to nearby issue of the _Daily Prophet_ from several days ago.

_**London's Most Famous Wandmaker Missing!**_

_**Garrick Ollivander Disappears Without a Trace**_

The signs of a struggle and lack of a body were disconcerting, as well as the fact that, aside from being an accomplished wandmaker, Garrick was also a very skilled and tenacious duelist. To beat him into submission would take more skill than many average wizards possessed, or at the very least, a group of at least four or five. Add that to Harry's recent nightmares and scar pains, and the conclusion was a grim one.

"I'd hoped we would have more time," he said, glancing up at Fawkes, who trilled mournfully. Standing, he strode over to the locked cabinet in which he kept his pensieve, tapping it with his wand and opening the doors, the hinges groaning a bit in their age. He'd have to grease those when he found the time.

Ignoring the stone basin for now, he reached up and tugged down a book, a small innocuous journal, utterly mundane except for the giant hole pierced in the center, the edges singed and blackened.

"Could it be you, Tom?"

…

Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was as bustling as it had ever been, Neville mused as he stared out at the churning sea of students milling through the cloud of steam. Behind him, his Gran was politely chatting with Tania Finnegan while Seamus lugged his cart along next to Neville.

"Alright, Nev?" he said with a grin. "Good to be back, eh?"

"Yeah. I'll miss Harry and Ron and Hermione, though."

"So they really aren't coming back?"

Neville shook his head, and Seamus did the same.

"Gonna be a quiet year without Fred and George, though, hm?"

Neville smirked. "Maybe a blessing in disguise, then."

"Oi!" a voice called, and they looked to see Dean striding toward them, his face split with a grin as he approached Seamus and engulfed him in a hug, pulling away and repeating the process with Neville. "I've missed you lot. We went to my aunt's house for the summer. Do you know what it's like to babysit four girls aged six to ten while the family's off taking in a movie or something?"

"I'm shocked you made it back in one piece," Seamus said with a smirk.

"I still have nightmares," Dean countered. "If I wake up in the middle of the night screaming, will you hold me?" He latched onto Seamus, who shoved him off, leaving Neville laughing at his friends' antics.

"Neville Longbottom."

The voice was quiet, and if the speaker hadn't said his name, Neville would think she was talking to herself. He turned and saw a girl about Ginny's age staring unblinkingly in his general direction, her eyes actually resting on a point above his right shoulder. She had scraggly dishwater blonde hair and large eyes that looked even larger due to their silvery blue color. She wore a necklace made of butterbeer corks, raddish-shaped earrings, and Neville was pretty sure she had her wand tucked behind her ear.

"Um, I'm Neville."

"I know," the girl said, blinking exactly once and fixing her gaze on him. Neville glanced to Dean and Seamus for support, but they seemed content just watching the scene unfold.

"Um…who are you?"

"Oh, I'm Luna Lovegood. Ginny Weasley said that I should ride with you on the train."

She didn't seem to be in the habit of providing more than the necessary information, Neville mused, though he nodded, ignoring Dean and Seamus's sudden looks of incredulity as he said, "Alright, then. You can sit with us."

"Um, Nev…."

Neville turned to stare at Seamus, narrowing his eyes a bit. "_All_ of us."

Grumbling, the two followed as Neville and Luna made their way to the train.

…

McGildenhurst Magical Academy had been built only ten years ago by the noted magician and physicist Dr. Piston McGildenhurst, who had disappeared quite suddenly only two years after the school's inception. The founder's life and person were steeped in mystery, though he was known to be quite the eccentric.

In matters of schooling, however, he at least seemed willing to conform to accepted norms.

The academy itself was a rather sizable campus, more resembling a university more than a high school. There seemed to be a building for every school of magic imaginable, and a few for programs pioneered by Piston McGildenhurst himself. Harry could see Hermione practically quivering with contained enthusiasm.

"You want to check out every one of those buildings, I bet?" he leaned against her, causing her to overbalance a few steps, and she stuck her tongue out at him, pushing right back.

"This school, this…whole country approaches magic completely differently from how Hogwarts and Wizard Britain do. Hogwarts maintains tradition, but the MUSA researches, tests the limits, even melds magic and muggle technology to form something useful to _both _sides. Did you know 67 percent of newly created spells in the last year came from the United States?"

"I do now," Harry said with a grin, and Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

"All I'm saying," she continued, "is that we can learn things here that Hogwarts would never even _dream_ of teaching us! Think of the opportunities."

"As long as they have a quidditch team," Ron said, coming up on Harry's other side. Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Whatever makes you happy, Ronald," she said with a sigh, and Ron snickered at her.

"I'm a man of simple tastes, Hermione," he said. "Quidditch and a decent meal are all I need to be happy."

"You may want to check out quodpot," Ginny said from behind them, moving up to Hermione's side. The twins had dashed ahead upon spotting a small explosion from the chemistry lab's upper window. "They only play with one ball, but it could explode at any moment."

"Sounds more like the twins' speed to me," Ron said. "I can see them trading quidditch for quodpot. I'm a quidditch fan for life, though."

"Such dedication to a worthy cause," Hermione simpered, and Ron scoffed.

"You just can't understand it," he said. "People are born sports fans."

"It's true," a new voice said, causing them all to jump. Harry turned to see Leon Mason striding by. He had traded his unruly mane of black hair (much like Harry's, though wavier) for a shorter, more professional look, and his scraggly unkempt beard was gone, replaced by a smooth hairless complexion that left him looking younger than his years.

All in all, Hermione thought he cleaned up rather nicely.

"Mister Mason," she greeted him. "How was the rest of your summer?"

"Enjoyable enough," he said. "Hagrid's getting restless without a school to take care of, so he's starting a pumpkin patch, of all things, in my backyard."

"He grows some good pumpkins, Hagrid does," Ron said, and Leon chuckled.

"Anyway, to contribute to your discussion, Ron here is right about sports fans. My parents, God bless them, are diehard NASCAR fans."

"NASCAR?" Ron asked, looking perplexed.

"Racing," Hermione said. "The competitors race high-performance cars around a track."

"They drive fast, they turn left, they drive fast, they turn left," Leon grinned. "Sometimes they turn right if it's a road course."

"Sounds a bit dull," Ginny opined.

"Well, my parents are odd creatures," Leon said. "But damn it, I love 'em to pieces. Anyway, I have to go help with the whole welcoming speech thing, but if you have any trouble acclimating come find me. I am the guidance counselor."

"Thanks. See you later, Mr. Mason!" Hermione waved as he strode off.

"He's the guidance counselor?" Harry asked as they stepped into the main building, joining a throng of students filing into the auditorium for the principal's opening address. "He seems a bit…well, not the type."

"Appearances can be deceiving," Hermione chided him gently. "Maybe he has a secret responsible streak that he doesn't like people to know about."

"Or he's related to the school dean and got the job out of nepotism," Ron said with a smirk.

"Ronald!" Hermione gaped at him. "You used the word 'nepotism' correctly!"

Ginny burst into laughter as they strode into the auditorium.

…

The opening address started with various heads of sports and activities announcing tryouts and signup times, moving on to the dean of students outlining a few of the basic rules and policies students were expected to adhere to (dress code, language, general conduct, and the like), and finally, it was the school dean's turn.

Dean Paul Shepard was a no-nonsense retired Navy commander with black hair cut absolutely military regulation length and a small goatee that would likely pass any neatness inspection posed by naval command. His face was dominated by a rather round nose and a full mouth. The pursed-looking lips combined with his narrow eyes made his expression look perpetually disapproving.

As he gazed out across his students, though, Hermione thought she saw an almost fatherly affection in his eyes.

"Good morning, students."

"Good morning, Mister Shepard!" the room chorused back, a few whistles and catcalls echoing after silence fell again, and Shepard actually cracked a smile as chuckles ran through the crowd.

"Settle down," he said, not sternly. "To all returning students, welcome back. To our new arrivals, welcome to McGildenhurst Academy of Magic. Stay out of trouble, and you'll have a good year. Cause problems, and _we'll_ have a problem. This is the only time of your life where the only thing you're expected to do is better yourselves, and I won't sit by while anyone here squanders his or her potential."

Hermione knew right away that she would like this man.

"Study hard, try better than your best, and have fun. Like I said, when you're done here, it's off to the real world, and let me tell you, if you don't go in prepared, it's not any fun at all. Dismissed."

The students all cheered, and Shepard sprang to a crisp salute, only adding to the roar of approval.

"They really seem to like him," Hermione said to Harry, shouting over the din.

"You kidding?" a new voice asked, and Hermione turned to see a girl with dyed-red hair streaked with purple and bright gray eyes. She had a round face and she was thick of build but not overweight by any stretch of the imagination. She was, however, almost comically short, only coming up to Hermione's shoulders. "You've never heard of Paul Shepard? Guy's a war hero. Persian Gulf. The first one."

Hermione had at least heard of the war, though the details were sketchy, as she had been in primary school at the time and didn't really read much about wars.

"What did he do?" she asked in a more normal voice as the quartet plus the girl made their way back outside.

"Only made sure every last sailor under his command was safely evacuated when his frigate was sunk off the Gulf. They dragged him out of the water half dead almost a day later. He lost a leg and was honorably discharged, given a Purple Heart, and awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. He fought tooth and nail to be re-enlisted, but I guess the big guys felt he'd done his part. In any case, we love him because he's a total badass."

Hermione raised her eyebrows at Harry to find him returning the gesture.

"By the way, who are you guys? You sound English?"

"I'm Hermione. This is my boyfriend, Harry." A little flutter went through her chest, and she chided herself for getting all girly over introducing Harry as her _boyfriend_. "And this is our friend Ron and his sister Ginny. We're transfers from Hogwarts."

At this, the girl actually let a dubious laugh. "Ooooh, wow. You're in for a culture shock."

"I'm beginning to suspect that," Hermione deadpanned.

"I'm Samantha. Call me Sam, if you want."

"Nice to meet you," Hermione said, and the others all extended the usual pleasantries. "What grade are you in?"

"Eighth," Sam said. "I'm the first magician in the family in seven generations. Lucky number!" she announced with a smile.

"It skipped that many generations?" Ginny asked. Sam nodded, following them down the steps and toward the "Middle School" building.

"Where you guys are from, Magic families married together, so magic kids were more likely to pop out." Hermione couldn't stop a small laugh at that comment. "Here, magic and non-magic blended together, so some families turn out only one generation of magic every couple, or only one kid is a magician. My older brother is non-magic."

"Wouldn't the non-magic kids get jealous or something?" Ginny asked.

"Sometimes," Sam said with a shrug. "Derrick, my brother, was pretty pissed when he first found out, but he's pretty alright with it now. He thinks it's cool that his sister can make things explode with a wave of a wand," she smirked. "Plus, it would be kind of petty to get jealous at someone for something completely out of their control, wouldn't it? I was _born_ magic, and he wasn't. Luck of the draw."

"That's a very pragmatic viewpoint," Hermione said.

"I don't know what 'pragmatic' means, but thanks!"

They strode up the stone steps and into the Middle School building, which was as big as an entire school in its own right. Hermione was reminded somewhat unpleasantly of her years in grade school before finding out she was a witch. Granted, after comparing childhood memories with Harry late into the evening, she couldn't deny that he'd had it markedly worse, but she'd been something of a social pariah during her own younger years. Being a motor-mouthed bookworm with prominent front teeth tended to bar one from most social circles.

Now, though, she strode into the school with her head held high and a smile on her face, hand-in-hand with her boyfriend.

Quite an improvement.

"So, what's your first period?" Sam asked, tugging her schedule from her pocket as they settled against a wall of lockers to consult.

"Advanced Magical Defense," Hermione said, consulting her own. Next to her, Harry gave a nod.

"Same here."

"I'm Basic Charms," Ron said, looking a bit nervous. "All by myself."

"You'll be fine, Ron," Harry said, clapping him on the shoulder and pointing at his schedule. "Look, next period, we're in Biology together.

"Yeah, look at me, Ron," Ginny said, holding up her own schedule. "I'm a year below you, so I've got _all_ my classes alone."

"Hey, your schedule looks a lot like my friend Heather's," Sam said, glancing at Ginny's. "She's got Non-Magic Culture Studies first period, too, and there's a few other classes that line up. Tell her you're new and Sam likes you."

"Oh…thanks," Ginny said, giving Sam a smile, and Sam smirked right back.

"Don't thank me yet," she said warningly. "She has a thing for British accents. Even if you're a girl, once you speak around her, she won't wanna leave you alone."

Ginny pinked a bit at that, her eyes widening. "Consider me warned." Turning, she strode down the crowded hallway, her read hair disappearing amidst the sea of students.

"As for, um, Ron?" she pointed unsurely at Ron, who glanced up from his own schedule. "I have Basic Charms first, too. I'm terrible at charms. Not bad with transfig, though. Wanna walk with me?"

"Um, sure," Ron shrugged, glancing at Harry, who nodded encouragingly. When he and their new acquaintance had departed, Harry took Hermione's hand, and they set off in the opposite direction.

"She's nice," Hermione commented, and Harry nodded his agreement.

"It seems like exotic hair color is the big thing lately," he added, discreetly pointing at the surrounding students, many of which were sporting similarly vibrant hair colors; Hermione saw bright blues, acid greens, and one student whose hair subtly changed color with each blink of her eyes.

"Well, the dress code is fairly lax about hair color," Hermione pointed out as they mounted a staircase. "And changing your hair color is much easier for a witch or wizard than a muggle. You just have to learn the right glamor charms. So it's a more common thing."

"I don't remember seeing anyone with green and pink hair at Hogwarts," Harry said as they stepped into their classroom, peering around for two empty seats near each other.

"Well, Wizard Britain is a lot more conservative than Magic America," Hermione explained as they strode down a row, settling on an empty section of desks, though the single white-blonde student settled in the middle of the cluster ensured that no two were adjacent.

"Um, excuse me?" Hermione tentatively tapped his desk, and he looked up. She was forcibly reminded of Malfoy; the boy's hair was nearly the exact same color (possibly a shade lighter) and combed back, though it seemed less slick and more like he used some sort of mousse. His eyes, too, were a different shade, a deeper sea-blue, like Ron's. He had the kind of average face that one could forget moments after looking away from him, though he was noticeably tan. When he spotted Hermione, his face split in an easy smile.

"Mornin'," he said, and Hermione noted a slight southern United States drawl to his voice.

"Good morning," Hermione said cheerfully, giving him a smile. "Um, I'm Hermione, and this is my boyfriend, Harry. We were maybe hoping to sit next to each other, and, um…." She gestured at the desks around the boy to try to illustrate the situation. The boy followed her movement, and comprehension dawned.

"Ah, looka me, hoggin' all these desks," he chuckled, standing and grabbing his backpack before moving a desk to his left.

"Thanks so much, and sorry to impose – "

"Hey, if my girl was in this class, I'd wanna sit next to her, too," he said, plopping down in the next desk and turning to face them, sticking a hand out as Harry sat next to him and Hermione sat in front of Harry. "Name's Benjamin Harold McKenzie. Call me Benny."

"Harry James Potter," Harry returned with a smile, gripping his hand. "Harry."

"Hermione Jane Granger," Hermione also got a firm handshake, noting that his hands were rather calloused. "Um, please don't call me Herm or anything like that," she said with a little laugh. Benny gave a small chuckle.

"Wouldn't dream of it. How 'bout I just call you Granger?"

"That would work just fine," Hermione said with a nod.

"Y'all aren't from around here, are ya?" he said. "Sound like…English? Australian?"

"English," Harry confirmed. "We're from Hogwarts."

"Aaaaah," Benny nodded in understanding, still smiling. "I bet ya feel like a fish outta water, hm?"

"Well, we're muggle-born, so it's not quite the culture shock as a pureblood witch or wizard."

Benny looked about to respond, but at that point, the teacher strode in, and the class fell silent.

The Advanced Magical Defense (often shortened simply to "Defense") teacher was a grizzled old man named Edward Holmes ("No one calls me Eddy. Ever."), a short-tempered former Navy drill instructor who apparently once presided over the school dean's tenure in boot camp. Nonetheless, he knew his stuff, as with minutes of starting class, he produced his wand and reduced his desk to a pile of splinters with a very controlled blasting hex, repairing it moments later.

"Wanna learn how to do that?" he asked the class at large, to general murmurs of ascent. "Then no screwing around, and let's get to work."

Second period, Hermione and Harry split up, Harry off to Biology (which seemed to be America's answer to Care of Magical Creatures) with Benny, while Hermione made her way to Political Science, where she met up with Sam again.

"Hey, Transfer!" the petite girl said, plopping down next to her. "How was Holmes?"

"Very…severe," Hermione said with a little smile. "He seems competent, though."

"I had him last year for Intermediate Defense," Sam said, leaning back in her seat. "He acts tough, but he's a big softie. When my boyfriend was being a total dick and verbally abusive last year, he talked me through it and helped me get up the courage to break up with him."

"Well, that's sweet of him," Hermione said, glancing up front. She hadn't noticed, but the teacher was already in the room.

And he was sleeping.

Lounging back in the chair was a man around Mr. Mason's age, his longish dishwater blonde hair puffing with each sleepy breath he took. When the bell to begin class rang, he awoke with a start, jumping from his chair an introducing himself as Mr. Noah Waters, rubbing his eyes sleepily. Hermione couldn't help but laugh inwardly.

Even in America, magical educators had their eccentricities.

Third period was Advanced Transfiguration (Hermione's favorite subject), where Hermione rejoined Harry under the instruction of a rather attractive Chinese woman named Emily Chen, who the class found out in minutes was a third-generation Chinese-American, 25 years old, in a relationship with Mr. Mason, owned four cats named Mercutio, Romeo, Juliet, and Oscar, and was having a bad week because she was a Pisces, even though she doesn't really believe in astrology, despite being a magician.

"Also, I'm a bit of a chatterbox, so, sorry!"

Fourth period, Advanced Charms, was taught by one of the tallest men Hermione had ever seen. Abraham Dawson, former high-school basketball star for this very school, hovered right around seven feet tall, actually having to duck his head just a bit to enter the classroom. A man of a deep ebony complexion, his low smooth voice and absolutely placid demeanor instantly put the whole classroom at ease. Harry actually nodded off once or twice, and Hermione had to covertly fire a pinching hex at him to startle him awake again.

After fourth period was lunch, where the whole school gathered in the massive cafeteria (a four-story tall monster of a building with stalls that sold every food imaginable) to eat. Harry and Hermione met up with Ron, followed by the twins, though they seemed to have already nestled into their own circle of friends.

"Alright, you lot?" one of the twins asked, winking at them.

"Love to stay and chat – "

"But we're going to have lunch with the Chemistry Club."

"They're the ones that blew out that window this morning, I suppose?" Ron asked with a roll of the eyes.

"Right in one, dear brother," they said in unison.

"And so, for the sake of intellectual pursuit – "

"And with the noble goal of bettering ourselves – "

"We're joining," they finished at the same time, bowing in tandem and rushing off to follow their future club-mates.

"Hey!" a voice called behind them. "Transfers!"

"We have names," Hermione said, though she gave Sam a wry smile as she hurried up to them, followed by a taller girl with long blonde hair and deep brown eyes, her smile wide as she clutched onto the arm of Ginny, who looked exasperated but not unhappy.

"This is Heather, everyone," she said, sounding slightly amused. "She likes English accents."

"Listen to her _talk_!" Heather said to Sam, who poked her in the forehead.

"Don't be rude," she said exasperatedly. "Everyone, my friend, Heather. Heather, Harry, Hermione, and Ron. Ron is Ginny's brother, and they're all from Hogwarts."

"Hi!" Heather said brightly, smiling at them. Just watching the girl quiver with happiness was making Hermione tired. "Wanna eat lunch together?"

Sam smiled wryly at them. "I don't think she plans to take no for an answer."

"Clearly," Hermione said with a small laugh, giving Ginny a commiserating look, though she couldn't help but notice that Ginny didn't look particularly upset. "Harry, Ron?"

"Yeah."

"Alright."

And just like that, they were off to lunch with their new friends.

…

"So how're you liking McG's?"

"McG's?" Ron asked, looking at Heather in confusion.

"McGildenhurst just takes too long to say," Sam explained, and Harry nodded, understanding that logic. Often he'd simply shortened Defense Against the Dark arts to Defense or DADA.

"It's…very different," Ginny said, taking a bit of her burger. The food was decent, but it would never compare to Hogwarts's nightly banquets. Though, Harry had to admit that Hogwarts food generally left him sleepy and feeling overly full, while this food simply made the hunger go away so he could focus on class. "I've never used a computer before."

"Never?" Sam asked, looking askance at the girl. "Like…ever?"

"The poor thing's family doesn't even have a television," Heather added, pouting over at the redhead, and Ginny rolled her eyes.

"The magic community in England is rather…dated," Hermione added. "And, all-around, they're very out of touch with modern muggle society."

"Muggle?" Heather asked, canting her head curiously to the side.

"British slang," Sam explained. "Non-magic people."

"Oh," Heather said. "We just call 'em non-magic."

There was a silent moment while everyone worked at their food. Harry looked up and spotted Benny wandering the row between two tables, giving him a small wave. The blonde boy caught his eye and grinned, striding in their direction.

"Hey, y'all," he said, sitting near them. "Mind if I take this seat, since I'm not splittin' up the happy couple this time?" He winked at Hermione.

"Not at all," Harry said, tugging a stray food wrapper out of the way so the boy could set his tray down. They made the necessary introductions (Sam and Heather at least knew Benny in passing), and Benny sighed.

"Not even been a whole day, and I miss summer already," he said. "My girl transferred to St. Clarice's School for Magical Ladies a few miles north, so I only get to see her after school or on weekends now."

"Aw, that's too bad," Heather said. "I remember last year, you two were like never apart."

"Yeah, now I'm so lonely and abandoned," he said staring at the ceiling and sighing with exaggerated wistfulness. "Oh, my misanthropic agony!"

The group burst into laughter, and Benny chuckled along with them.

"So, how's everyone else's day going?"

Discussion fell to comparing classes, teachers, and homework (which Ron griped about getting on the first day, joined spiritedly by Benny). While the rest discussed, Harry glanced around the cafeteria. Table after table was filled with students chattering amongst themselves, talking sports, TV shows, video games, everything a student his age should be talking about. No one gave him more than a passing glance, no one tried to covertly glance his way, no one stared or whispered behind their hands and pointed his way.

No one really seemed to think all that much of his presence.

It was wonderful.

…

"So, um…Luna," Dean said gesturing at the magazine Luna had buried her nose in once they'd found a compartment and situated themselves. It looked to be a months-old issue of _The Quibbler_. Neville had heard of the magazine, but his Gran insisted that it was "hardly proper reading material" and refused to purchase even a single issue. Neville thought some of the articles were rather funny just for being so outlandish. "You a fan of _The Quibbler_, or you just read it?"

"Oh, my father's the editor," Luna said in her misty voice, staring up at Dean, who seemed to grow restless and fidgety under her gaze. "It's a fascinating magazine, wouldn't you agree?"

"Fascinating?" Seamus said, and Neville could hear the condescension dripping from his voice. Neville decided to head this one off.

"I think it is, too," he said quickly. "Gran isn't a fan, but I read it sometimes when she's chatting with her friends at the bookstore." He cast around in his memory for some memory of an article he'd read. "That, um, article about the blibbering humdinger was…interesting."

"I helped Daddy write that one!" Luna said, her wide eyes turning to Neville, and Dean actually let a relieved sigh. Neville couldn't see the big deal. Her eyes were actually quite pretty. She smiled brightly and launched into a long spiel about the blibbering humdinger, and how their saliva was a key ingredient in some potion that caused the drinker to taste sound.

Still, when she wasn't staring blankly at you, Luna Lovegood had a nice smile.

…

Following one of the most enjoyable lunches of her school career, Hermione tugged Harry along the hallway to their Advanced Chemistry class (which seemed to be Potions with a different name), followed by Sam, who was still finishing a strawberry banana smoothie she'd bought at the cafeteria, despite it being a blatant violation of the rules about food and drink in the hallways.

"Oh, please," she said with a roll of her eyes when Hermione pointed this out, taking a noisy gulp. "Like Paul Shepard himself is going to be standing in the classroom, waiting to punish me."

As it turned out, that was exactly the case, though the school dean seemed to be not so much waiting to punish little Sam but chatting with the Chemistry teacher, a venerable old woman named Olivia Gernsback.

"Oh, dang it," Sam said when she caught sight of the dean, tossing her empty smoothie cup in the garbage bin. "Hello, Dean Shepard."

The dean stared at her for a moment. "Miss Crowley. I'm going to pretend I didn't see that cup, since it's the first day back. Don't stretch my imagination in the future."

"Of course, sir."

With a nod, the dean turned back to Mrs. Gernsback. "I should go."

"We'll talk again, Paul," the old woman said with a smile, and the dean strode out, startling another student as he exited.

"He reminds me so much of my father, it's scary," Sam said.

"He probably reminds _everyone_ of their fathers," Harry added, and Sam giggled.

"He probably secretly _is_ everyone's father," she said as they went to sit, "and his mission in life is to make sure everyone on the planet just freaking _behaves_."

Harry and Hermione laughed as they sat down, earning them a reproving look from Mrs. Gernsback, though the amused quirk to her lips betrayed the fact that she had been eavesdropping and probably agreed with a couple of their points.

Sixth period was a study period for Harry (the lazy bum), so Hermione went to her World History class alone. Apparently, at McGildenhurst, the subject of history was mandatory in the early years and switched over to an elective in eighth grade. Harry and Ron, likely scarred from two years of Professor Binns's endless droning about goblins, were loath to repeat the experience.

It was too bad, too, since the History teacher was quite the character.

Mister Corey Callahan, who looked to be about her father's age, was one of those teachers that was so passionate about what he taught this his sheer enthusiasm was contagious. His round stature and baby face gave him the look of an overgrown child eager to share something he'd just learned with his friends. He bounced into the room and immediately began a riveting retelling of the First Giant Liberation of Eastern Europe, in which the formerly subjugated giant population of what was now Siberia freed themselves from their shackles and established a very short-lived government that ended when they all killed each other.

"But it changed the way wizards viewed giants _forever_!" he practically shouted. "And that's what history is _about_! Using the past to help us understand the present and _plan_ for the _future_!"

Yes, Hermione thought. This one gets it.

Seventh period, Harry once again joined Hermione for Runes, which was similar to the Ancient Runes class offered at Hogwarts, though Hermione had never had a chance to study the subject before, so she was quite eager for this one. The teacher, a short, swarthy Latino man named Carlos Villanueva, spoke in a thick, sometimes indecipherable, Mexican accent, though he had kindly charmed a piece of chalk to scribble his words on the board behind him, providing closed captioning right there in the classroom.

Hermione thought it was an ingenious idea.

Finally, eighth period was Arithmancy and Numerology, another course Hermione had been eager to take at Hogwarts. She'd always excelled at maths in primary school, and this course was simply magic with numbers. This class was headed by a brunette woman who introduced herself as "Lindsay Smith, the most boring human being ever. Let's learn about magic numbers.".

At least Harry got a kick out of that one.

Then, at long last, the day was over. Backpacks laden with syllabi, textbooks, and folders full of medical forms and other legal matters to be signed by parents and guardians, the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione bade farewell to Sam, Heather, and Benny, with promises to f-mail them.

"That wasn't so bad," Harry said as the quartet strode along the sidewalk. The twins had elected to stay behind to get to know their new club. "It's pretty much how I expected muggle high-school to be like."

"'Non-magic'," Ron pointed out mockingly. "They don't use muggle here."

"Just as well," Hermione said. "I've always found the word 'muggle' to be a bit silly."

"Hermione, a lot of commonly used magic terms are silly," Harry said. "I mean, look at quidditch. We toss a quaffle around while bludgers try to hit us off our brooms, and the game ends when we catch a snitch. Mention that in any non-magic conversation, and they'll think you've gone daft."

Hermione giggled at that, and Harry bumped her shoulder playfully.

"Getting away from syntax," she said, "I did enjoy myself."

"Hermione Granger had a fun day at school?" Ron said in mock surprise.

"Alert the presses," Ginny added with a little laugh.

"Oh, shut it, you two," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "I'm just saying that at least everyone was nice, and the teachers seem much more competent than a few we've had at Hogwarts."

"Gilderoy Lockhart, anyone?" Ginny muttered, and they all burst into laughter.

…

"So, what d'you make of that Luna girl?" Dean asked as he, Seamus, and Neville found seats at the Gryffindor table, Luna drifting off toward Ravenclaw. "She's…well, odd, isn't she?"

"Odd?" Seamus asked incredulously, quirking an eyebrow at Dean. "She's barmy. Mad. Off her head. She's the kind of girl I wouldn't trust around sharp objects, and they've given her a wand."

"Hey," Neville said, rounding on Seamus and giving him a look. "Don't make fun. She's a little strange, yes, but she's not some sort of psychopath. She's just different."

Seamus rolled his eyes but didn't say anything else, glancing up as the first years strode in, following Professor McGonagall, as always. Neville remembered well his own sorting, the trepidation of sitting in front of everyone in the school, the nagging worry that the hat would say they've made a mistake and he wasn't magic enough to be taught anything, then the complete shock at being put in Gryffindor, the last house he'd ever expected to be selected for.

"I didn't think she was that bad at all," Dean said. "A little…eccentric, but c'mon, so is Dumbledore."

Seamus paused at that, glancing between Dumbledore, who was smilingly watching the Sorting, and Luna, who was staring dreamily up at the ceiling, apparently stargazing or something.

"Oh, Merlin, she's Dumbledore as a little girl," Seamus muttered, and Dean had to stifle a laugh as a boy went up for his sorting and hall fell silent to wait for the verdict. When the hat announced "RAVENCLAW!" and the hall filled with cheers, he burst into laughter.

"That's…so true!" he said.

Following a Sorting like any other, Dumbledore stood and made his way to the podium at the front of the room, smiling down at the assembled students like a grandfather surveying his favorite batch of grandkids.

"Welcome, everyone to another year at Hogwarts, and welcome to our first-years. I must apologize for delaying your meal a moment longer, and I pray that your stomachs will forgive a few more minutes of emptiness."

That got a chuckle, though a few students grumbled, having apparently not packed a lunch for the train ride.

"As you've most likely read in the _Daily Prophet_, Hogwarts has seen a great many changes this summer, in light of some criticisms from students, parents, and several members of the board of governors. To describe all of them would likely delay dinner several hours. As such, a full list of changes was sent along with your Hogwarts letters, and anyone wishing to review them may obtain copies from Madam Pince at the library desk starting tomorrow morning."

He cleared his throat and continued.

"First years should note that the forest on the edge of the grounds is off-limits to any and all students…."

"Did either of you read about these changes they're making?" Dean asked. "I'm actually excited about a few of them."

"I heard they were upgrading the Muggle Studies curriculum," Neville said, and Seamus shrugged.

"Didn't even know it was out of date," he said. Dean laughed at that.

"Yeah, it is!" he said over the din of chatter that erupted as the platters and dishes in front of them filled with food, reaching immediately to spear a cut of ham and some sweet potatoes. "Katie Bell took the class last year and dropped it a few weeks in because she actually thought their portrayal of muggles was insulting."

"Isn't her mum a muggle?" Neville asked.

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "She took the class because she thought it would be an easy credit, but she just couldn't stand it. The curriculum hadn't been updated in decades, she said."

"I heard they told Snape to shape up and stop verbally abusing his students," Seamus added. Neville perked up at that.

"I didn't see that," he said, feeling a small bubble of hope in his chest. "He won't make fun of us anymore?"

"My mam is friends with Professor Vector," Seamus said. "Apparently, Dumbledore told Snape to be nicer to his students or he'd get the sack."

"Wow," Neville breathed. "All because Harry left, eh?"

"Yeah, what's up with that, I wonder?" Dean asked. "I mean, yeah, he beat You-Know-Who all those years ago, but why work so hard to keep him here?"

"He's a hero," Neville insisted. "Harry moving away was like saying he didn't want anything to do with Wizard Britain anymore."

"Besides, I've heard some rumors," Seamus said. "You know how Ollivander's missing? They're saying it was Death Eaters."

"How d'you reckon that?" Neville asked, though Dean just looked confused.

"Death Eaters?" he asked.

"You-Know-Who's followers," Neville quickly explained. "Why do they think it was them?"

"The Ministry's trying to keep it quiet, but my uncle works in Magical Law Enforcement," Seamus said. "He says one of the officers on the scene told him there was a Dark Mark above his house."

"And that's…?" Dean looked lost again.

"His symbol," Seamus said, holding up his left arm and clamping his right hand over his other wrist. "All You-Know-Who's inner circle has them branded on their left wrists. In the old days, if the Dark Mark was found over a house, the Death Eaters had gone to visit. Usually it meant they'd killed someone, but if it was someone important, they might've just kidnapped him. I reckon as much as Ollivander knows about wands, they'd want him alive."

"But why would the Death Eaters come back now?" Neville asked, his heart hammering. Seamus shook his head.

"Dunno. You-Know-Who's supposed to be gone. Maybe they got bored and decided to move on without him, or picked a new leader to be the new You-Know-Who."

"Or maybe he's come back from the dead," Dean said, eyes wide. "You reckon he could've found a way?"

"Dunno," Seamus said. "There's some pretty dark magic out there. Maybe he found a way to cheat death, even."

It was a distracted Neville that left the welcoming feast, having eaten very little thanks to the tenor of the conversation. Was You-Know-Who back? Even if he wasn't, the thought of his Death Eaters going active again was frightening enough, given what they could do to people.

His thoughts fell, of course, to his parents, probably ambling around St. Mungo's, oblivious to the fact that their son had started his first day of Hogwarts, unaware that there was a chance that the very people that had put them there could be returning.

And just as a bubble of terror threatened to engulf him, he quashed it back down, clenching his fists and shaking his head. What would his parents think of him breaking down in terror at the mere mention of Death Eaters? No, he wouldn't let those scum win. If Death Eaters were making a return (which, at this point, was only wild speculation), there was little he could do to stop them except learn all the defensive magic he could to fight them if and when the time came.

That thought firmly in mind, he followed Dean and Seamus and tried to commit the password to memory as they gave it to the Fat Lady and stepped into the Gryffindor common room.

Really, before anything else, he needed to work on his short-term memory.

...

That night, Hermione and Harry sat on the sofa out in his sitting room, Harry draped along the couch, Hermione leaning back against him, nestled happily back against his chest. Sirius had tactfully excused himself to his room to "prattle away at this computer thing you made me buy".

"Has your scar bothered you again since the beach?" she asked softly, and Harry tensed. "Harry?" she turned to look at him.

"It's…. It hasn't really hurt that _often_, but…I've been having nightmares," he admitted. Hermione bit her lip worriedly, and Harry smiled, planting a little kiss against her lips. "Don't worry. I've told Sirius about it, and he's been in contact with Dumbledore. Can you believe he's got a computer in his office and an f-mail account?"

"You're joking," Hermione said, her eyes wide. "That's…. Actually, that doesn't surprise me at all, now I think about it. But what did he say?"

"Basically, he said he's looking into it," Harry said, shrugging. "He asked me to write down what I could remember of the dreams and send it along."

"He doesn't have any insight or anything?" Hermione asked.

"Well, my scar is sort of a unique case, Hermione," he said. "There aren't really reference books on this sort of thing."

They fell silent, but Harry could tell that any happy mood had vanished with this serious talk. Squeezing Hermione, he leaned in to whisper in her ear.

"There is one thing," he said. At her questioning look, he continued. "When I'm with you like this, just the two of us, my scar doesn't so much as twinge."

She smiled up at him. "Really?" She moved to place her forehead against his, and Harry felt a dull ache that had been growing behind the old wound fade to nothingness. "Well, if that's the case, we'll just have to spend as much time together as possible."

"Somehow, I think if your parents found out we were having sleepovers, they might draw a line."

She blushed, ducking her head and biting her lip with a smile. "Well…we'll see."

Feeling his own face heat up, Harry marveled at how wonderful it was to have a girlfriend.

…

The day had started out peacefully enough. After escorting his son to the train station, Alexander Nott had returned home to enjoy the solitude of his respectable home, sending the house-elf out for a bottle of brandy and relaxing by the fireplace with the wireless turned low and the latest issue of _Wizard Hunters Weekly_. There was quite the gripping article about the outcry over tightening regulations on hunting hippogryphs, possibly outlawing it outright.

Just as he was getting himself worked toward writing a sternly-worded letter to the editor of the magazine to voice his opinion, there was a knock on the door. He heard the telltale crack as the elf went to answer it, settling back to his paper when the pillowcase-clad creature appeared at his elbow.

"Master," the creature said, staring at his feet, "a young man is at the door for you. He said to tell you that…the wait is over? And your lord has returned?"

Alexander felt a shiver run down his spine, and he stood, noting an increasing pain in his left wrist as he made his way to the door, freezing at the figure he saw on the threshold. A horribly familiar young man no older than nineteen or twenty stood in his doorway, his handsome face pale and topped with curly locks of black hair.

"Time has not been kid to you, Nott," the man said, and Alexander shook himself aware enough to drop to his knees, bowing deeply to the young man.

"M-my lord," he said. "It has been…far too long."

"And you still remember your place," the Dark Lord said softly, stepping inside and moving past Alexander's stooped form. "Stand."

Alexander obeyed as well as his aging body could, standing and following the Dark Lord into his sitting room. Pulling a wand from his pocket, the Dark Lord gave it a wave and conjured a tray of tea, sitting in one chair and motioning Alexander to take the other.

"Now," the Dark Lord said as Alexander sat. "I am afraid that I must be caught up on certain events. How is that I came to die?"

* * *

Okay, once again, sorry about the mega infodump there, but I wanted to let everyone get a feel for what kind of place McGildenhurst Academy is.

Also, I plan to keep up with Hogwarts through the eyes of Neville Longbottom, but I'm afraid I just don't know how to write the poor bloke, so if his thoughts seem OOC at all, let me know, and I'll try to work at it.

On another note, did I ruin any semblance of suspense by showing the whole Kreacher-Gollum-Horcurx-Resurrection thing? I mean, it would've been pretty obvious a couple chapters later, right? I was just going over that last few chapters and noticed that. Do shoot me a review let me know any opinions on how I'm going about telling this little tale. I can't guarantee a large-scale rewrite of any kind, though it's something I'll take into account when writing future works.


	13. Chapter 13

Not as long a chapter as last time, but a lot fewer walls of exposition. Updates may become a little more sporadic, as I'm reaching a wall with this particular story. We'll see, though.

Read on!

* * *

Neville had wondered how long it would take to notice any substantial change to Hogwarts's policies, but the moment he stepped into the Great Hall, one became fairly obvious.

"Luna," he said, taking a seat at the Gryffindor table, where Luna was being given a small berth as she went about eating her breakfast.

"Good morning, Neville," she said, offering him a smile. "Eggs?"

"Um, sure," he said, taking a scoop from the offered platter and adding some bacon. He was about to inquire about her presence at the table, but he remembered skimming over a line in the pamphlet about houses being allowed to dine at other house tables (to encourage inter-house relations). Naturally, Luna would want to take advantage of the opportunity to get away from her housemates. "How are you this morning?"

"Quite well," she said, taking a bite of her porridge. Neville noticed hashed browns, chunks of cinnamon roll, bacon, and what looked like coffee mixed in. Apparently, her taste in food was as eccentric as her personality. "Although…my herbology gloves have come up missing," she sounded only mildly disappointed. "It's the first class of the day, so I'm rather hoping they turn up."

"Did your classmates take them?" he asked.

Luna looked thoughtful. "That's a possibility," she said. "There's also the chance that it was a phalangefer."

Neville blinked, lost on that word. "And what's a phalangefer?"

"Small creatures with five hands and no feet," she explained. "Their whole bodies are covered with fur except for their many hands, so they need gloves to keep warm. If it was a phalangefer, I wouldn't be mad."

"But what if it was your housemates?" Neville asked. Luna gave him a dreamy smile.

"It's all in good fun," she said. She went back to her porridge, and Neville tucked in to his own breakfast, but occasionally, he would glance over to the Ravenclaw table, where a few students were not so covertly glancing over at Luna, sometimes whispering to each other and laughing.

He didn't like that one bit.

…

"Seamus," Neville said as the pair plus Dean made their way to History of Magic (which Dean had grumbled was the worst possible start to the school year), weaving through the crowd of students that were getting in what social time they could before class began. "You said you and Michael Corner were friends?"

"We grew up near each other," Seamus said. "I don't know that we're friends now, but we used to be close before Hogwarts."

"Right," Neville said. "D'you think you could talk him into helping out Luna?"

"What?" Seamus gaped at him. "You're still on about that?"

"She's being bullied," Neville pressed. "They stole her herbology gloves, and she's got it first class today."

"Then she can borrow someone else's," Seamus said, shrugging. "Problem solved."

"That's not a permanent fix," Neville said. "I already loaned her mine, but next it'll be her shoes or a textbook, or something."

"Tell her to talk to Flitwick, then," Seamus countered.

"None of the students would own up to it, and you know that," Neville frowned, folding his arms and glaring at Seamus. "And if they found out she told, they'd just pick on her worse."

"Why are you so hung up on this girl?" Seamus asked. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you fancied her."

"Seamus, can't you just ask Michael?" Dean asked, piping in for the first time, his voice calm and collected. "I mean, if someone's getting bullied, you should help out, right?"

He shook his head in exasperation, looking up at Neville (who had gained quite a few inches of height over his friend during the summer) and sighing.

"Fine, I'll talk to him," he said, "but why _are_ you so bent out of shape?"

"Because it's not fun to be bullied," Neville said as they stepped into Professor Binns's room.

Or…it had been.

"Good morning," a very real living person said, sitting at the long-disused desk at the front of the room. He looked to be in his sixties, as his skin was wrinkled with age, and his silvery hair was wispy at the top of his head. Nonetheless, he had kind brown eyes that regarded the three new arrivals warmly. "Please, have a seat."

"Who d'you reckon that is?" Dean whispered as they moved to sit down.

"New professor?" Seamus said, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"No, really?" he hissed. "Wouldn't've thought of that? But who _is_ he?"

"Were you three even paying attention during Dumbledore's announcements?" Parvati asked as they sat, and the three shook their heads. "That's Barnabas Bagshot. He's replacing Binns."

"Bagshot?" Neville asked. "Like the woman who wrote _A History of Magic_?"

"I think so," Parvati shrugged.

The second bell rang, and Professor Bagshot stood, smiling at the assembled students. "Good morning, everyone."

They class mumbled something that sounded like a collective greeting, and Bagshot chuckled indulgently.

"Ah, I sympathize," he said. "Summer's over, first day back, and you have to sit down to a history lesson. _But_, hopefully, I can make history sound more interesting than _Cuthbert Binns_," he said the name with distaste, moving to the blackboard. "Now, for those of you that may not have been paying attention during the feast," he tugged out his wand and tapped the blackboard, "my name is Barnabas Bagshot. Yes, like the woman that wrote the textbook. She is my great-great-auntie, bless her. It's thanks to her that I learned anything about history at all."

"So, you didn't like Professor Binns, either?" Ernie Macmillan asked, raising his hand. Bagshot scowled.

"Well, no one liked him," he said. "In the nearly two centuries that he's taught, not one student moved on to his N.E.W.T. course, and I've heard of several aspiring historians up and leaving to go to Beauxbatons or Durmstrang because Binns made the subject of history so boring."

A few students chuckled at this, but Bagshot shook his head. "I can see the irony, but all the same, it's tragic that such a wonderful subject can be rendered so trite by the wrong teacher. But that's the past, and not the interesting kind."

Another chuckle, and Bagshot moved back to the board. "Now, let's see if we can find something important in history that _didn't_ have to do with goblins."

…

"I like him," Dean said. "I wish they'd sacked Binns sooner."

"Yeah, like before we even started in this place," Seamus said.

"Or before he died," Dean countered.

"Or just never hired him in the first place," Neville said, and the other two nodded emphatically.

"What's next?" Dean asked.

"Potions," Seamus grumbled. "History and Potions in the same morning. Someone hates us."

"Hey, think positive," Dean said. "Maybe they sacked Snape, too."

The other two laughed as they trotted down a stairwell, turning and almost running into a slight blonde figure, who stopped at the last second, inches from Neville, their noses practically touching.

"Luna!" Neville said, smiling at her. Luna smiled right back, making no move to back up.

"Neville," she said (her warm breath smelling like chocolate, oddly), holding out a set of gloves. "I wanted to thank you for loaning me your gloves. We were handling shrivlefigs, which are apparently corrosive if handled without them. I would've had a rash on my hands for a few days."

She said all of this with a detached air, as though she were in fact talking about someone else that she didn't particularly care about.

"It's no problem, Luna," Neville said, stuffing the gloves in his bag. "If anything turns up missing, let me know. And…don't let anyone push you around."

She blinked, smiling a bit wider. "I have to go to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Farewell, Neville Longbottom."

She moved past him and strolled off, her blond hair swaying as she walked with a slight bounce in her step, almost skipping.

"She's not one for personal space, is she?" Seamus pointed out, and Dean chuckled as they continued on their way. "Still, I dunno why anyone would bully her. She's harmless. Weird, but harmless."

"Some people are just cruel blighters," Neville said, shaking his head, and the other two nodded.

"Too right," Dean agreed.

They made their way down into the lower levels, the air growing colder and mustier as windows gave way to portraits, the occupants greeting the students as they strolled by. Seamus ducked behind Neville as they passed a familiar portrait of a flower girl in a frilly white dress, Dean and Neville laughing as the girl spotted him anyway and blushingly gave him a shy little wave.

Finally, they reached Professor Snape's room, Neville unable to stop the familiar sense of dread that always accompanied any encounter with the menacing teacher. He clung to the slim hope that Snape actually _had_ gotten the sack and their new teacher was as kindly and welcoming as Bagshot.

However, as they took their seats, his hopes were dashed by Snape striding in, looking not unlike a vampire as his robes billowed out behind him. For some reason, Neville though he looked even more sour than usual, his mouth curled in a snarl as he glared out at his students, even giving the Slytherins a death look. The reason for his extra vindictiveness was revealed when Dumbledore strode in behind him, eyes twinkling as he smiled brightly at Snape. The students whispered amongst each other as Dumbledore conjured a rather plush-looking armchair next to Snape's desk and sat himself.

"Pay me no mind," he said quietly, noticing the mutterings. "I am but a fly on the wall at the moment. Severus, you have the floor."

Looking as though he would rather be swallowing broken glass with a pinecone chaser, Severus Snape practically growled his next statement.

"It has been put to my attention that my teaching methods are lacking in…positive reinforcement," he sneered, and Neville felt himself involuntarily shrink back. Albus Dumbledore was a brave man for bringing about that sneer and smiling as though he hadn't a care in the world. "As such, from this point on, I will endeavor to be…fairer in conducting my classes from now on. Now," he pointed his wand at the board, and a list of ingredients appeared. "Turn to page 252 and follow the instructions to brew a hair-raising solution. Should you have any questions, feel free to…ask for help. Begin…."

And thus began one of the most bizarre experiences of Neville's short life. Snape prowled about the room as per usual, but absent were any scathing comments, any insults, or (in the case of the Slytherins) undue praise for work that would normally kill someone. At one point, as Neville was about to add his rat tails, Snape swooped in and observed his cauldron.

"Longbottom," he said, his voice noticeably subdued. "Rat tails are added after pholcus thorax."

He strode off, and Neville consulted his instructions, finding that he had indeed skipped a step. But where was the biting voice? Where were the comments in the vein of "dunderhead", "nitwit", and "useless lump"?

"I'm not dreaming, am I?" Dean whispered as Neville dumped a handful of pholcus into his cauldron. "This is really happening? Snape is actually bearable to be around?"

"I don't_ feel_ like a figment of your imagination," Seamus said, pinching himself with one hand and Dean with other. Dean quickly smacked his hand away, but the motion had caught Snape's attention.

"Thomas and Finnegan," he said, stern but clearly trying to fight the usual venom. "Settle down and back to your potions."

"Yes, sir," Dean said, and they both hurried to continue.

The real shocker came about halfway through class when Lavender Brown tentatively raised her hand, earning shocked stares from most of the class. Snape slowly made his way over, the look on his face demonstrating quite accurately how little he wanted to be doing anything close to helping a Gryffindor.

"Um, Professor, my potion is bright blue, and it's…supposed to be…green…."

Staring at the potion for all of five seconds, Snape looked back up Lavender. "You forgot to add the powdered bat teeth. Fortunately for you, the…mistake is fixable. There is a section beginning on page 627 that will explain how to fix simple mistakes in potion-brewing."

He turned and continued on his way, leaving a completely stunned Lavender in his wake. It was a full minute before she realized she had a potion to fix and hurriedly marked her page before turning to the one Snape specified.

"This…is bizarre." Dean shook his head wonderingly.

"Too right," Seamus nodded.

By the end of class, everyone had finished the potion and spooned samples into a flask. Neville's wasn't electric blue as the book had specified it should be, but it was a nice shade of cerulean that he believed was close enough. Lavender had managed to turn hers aquamarine, at least.

"Clean your supplies, and…have a…satisfactory day."

Neville froze on his way to the cleaning station, Dean bumping into him from behind. Severus Snape wishing his class well? Well, "satisfactory", but from him, that was like a sobbing farewell.

As Neville left the room to head to lunch, he hear Dumbledore ask Snape, "Now, Severus, was that so difficult?"

"Yes."

…

"I think Potions is going to be my new favorite class," Seamus said through his laughter as he assembled himself a sandwich at lunch. "That was the most bloody hilarious thing I've ever seen in my life."

"I give it two weeks before he pops a vein," Dean added.

"Two days, more like."

"He won't last his next class."

Neville, meanwhile, was watching as Luna poured soy sauce over a croissant, adding sour cream, red pepper, and carrot slices before carefully cutting it into even pieces and eating it with a fork. She caught Neville's stare and smiled, chasing her bite with a drink of chocolate milk.

"Would you like to try some?"

"Oh, um, no," he hurriedly replied. "I…don't care for sour cream."

She nodded in understanding, and Neville went back to his chicken. "So, how's class going so far?"

"Oh, Herbology was great fun," she replied in a faraway voice. "One girl complimented me on my new gloves. I told her they were yours. She seemed to think that meant that we were dating."

Neville choked on his pumpkin juice as he took a drink, coughing but managing to avoid spitting. Next to him, Dean clapped him on the back almost absently as he and Seamus went on about quidditch.

"A-and what did you tell them?" Neville asked. Luna blinked slowly.

"I told them that I wasn't sure if we were dating," she said. "I don't know anything about relationships. Are we in one?"

"W-well…." Neville felt his face heating up. "I mean, we're friends, Luna, but…people usually know each other longer than we have before they start dating. I mean, I barely even know you."

"Likewise," Luna said, completely at ease despite what Neville would think was a very awkward conversational topic. "I would like to get to know you more. You seem nice."

He smiled at her. "You seem nice, too, Luna. A little…odd, but nice."

She gave him a dreamy little smile, going back to her meal, and Neville did the same, though he knew now more than ever that if Seamus didn't talk with Michael, he would do it himself.

…

Following lunch were Charms and Transfiguration, which were par for the course, though both professors seemed to be just a little out of sorts, likely due to the noticeable absence of Hermione Granger, whose quick study of just about any spell under the sun had set the bar for the class before. Without her to aspire to, the class seemed almost listless, trying to pick up the slack but just unable to.

What with the distractions in his previous classes, it was the first time the absence of his three friends really hit home. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were gone, and it was a coin-toss as to whether they would ever be back.

Just as Neville was sinking into a bout of melancholy, however, opportunity struck. As they were exiting Transfiguration, he spotted Michael Corner leaning against a nearby wall, chatting with two other Ravenclaws whose names he couldn't place. Glancing at Seamus, Neville gave him an elbow to the side and pointed to Michael.

"Yeah, yeah," Seamus said, shaking his head. He made his way through the crowd to Michael, Neville and Dean on his heels. "Michael."

Looking up, Michael gave Seamus an amiable smile. "Alright, Seamus? Good to be back, eh?"

"Good enough," Seamus replied. "Listen, we were hoping to have a word with you, if you don't mind."

He glanced at his two friends, who shrugged. "We were gonna grab an early dinner anyhow," one said.

"Alright, I'll be on down." He turned to Seamus. "I know one of those new lounges is nearby. We can talk there."

...

Another of the changes to Hogwarts was the addition of many student lounges. Old classrooms that had been long disused were converted to hangouts for students to study, work on homework, or simply relax. Any member of any House was allowed, making them much less restrictive than the House-exclusive common rooms.

It was in one such lounge that the trio convened in with Michael, finding a circle of chairs in the corner while a Weird Sisters song played in the background. Nearby, a group of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors were playing some board game, though Neville couldn't determine which.

"So," Michael said, glancing at the trio in turn, "what's this all about?"

Seamus glanced over at Neville, raising his eyebrows, and the message was clear. _Here he is; tell him what you want._

"Um," Neville cleared his throat. "Do you know Luna Lovegood?"

"Loony?" Michael asked, smirking. "Yeah, all Ravenclaws do. They had a firstie initiation this year where they had to nick her gloves."

The smirk was all it took for all of Neville's nervousness to evaporate. "You shouldn't pick on her like that," he said, and Michael's smile faded.

"Aw, don't be like that," he said, chuckling. "It's all harmless. Just in good fun."

"It's not fun to her," Neville pressed, unconsciously sliding forward in his seat. "How would you feel if your gloves came up missing? Or your shoes? Or your cloak? To see all your housemates laughing at you while you look for it, knowing that they know where it is and they're not telling you?"

"Don't get all preachy," Michael said, scowling now. "I honestly don't even think she cares."

"_I _care," Neville said. "You should lay off her and tell the other Ravenclaws."

"You her bodyguard or something?" Michael asked, laughing, and Neville felt his hand clench into a fist. Dean seemed to notice as well.

"Nev…" he said warningly, and Neville stood.

"Forget it," he said, glaring down at Michael, who looked mildly shocked. "I don't like to stereotype Houses, but maybe you do belong in Ravenclaw. Not an ounce of courage."

"Hey, I've got plenty of courage!" Michael said, also standing.

"Then why do you need to pick on others to make yourself feel stronger?" Neville asked, turning and striding out of the room, Dean and Seamus on his heels.

"Blimey, Nev!" Seamus said, sounding amazed. "You looked ready to deck him!"

Just as quick as his anger had formed, it evaporated, and his legs suddenly felt very shaky. He stopped and leaned against a wall, taking a deep breath. "I think I might've been," he said, shaking his head. "People shouldn't…. A House is your family. You shouldn't do that sort of thing to family."

"Hey, we agree, Nev," Dean said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Look, Michael isn't the only Ravenclaw in our year. Terry Boot and I kinda talk once in a while if we run across each other in the library. Wanna see if he'll help?"

With one last ragged breath, he nodded and stood. "Yeah."

…

Immediately, Neville knew Terry was a winner. Despite knowing Dean only as an occasional library acquaintance, he greeted him like an old friend, smiling wide and marking a spot in his book before shutting it and giving Dean his full attention.

"Something I can do for you, mate?"

"This is about Luna," Dean said, nodding toward Neville. "Nev's worried about the bullying thing."

Terry sighed and shook his head. "Mental, that. Yeah, she's odd, but some people just _are_. My aunt, bless her soul, has twenty-five bonsai trees, all named, that she talks to like they're her children. Things were never the same after the accident…."

"All the same," Neville said, "we were wondering if you would be willing to help her out, stand up for her, talk to the other Ravenclaws."

He shrugged, shaking his head. "I can try, but I dunno how many I'll be able to convince. She makes an easy target."

"Well, what if you made her a harder target?" Seamus asked with a shrug. Neville blinked, a brilliant thought coming to mind. He stood, and the other three looked at him curiously.

"Do what you can, please," he asked Terry. "I've got a letter to write."

…

The days passed quickly, and before Harry knew it, he had been in school for nearly a week. Time seemed to fly by as he spent his days in such a typical American high-school environment that, had he not been learning proper transfiguration wand movements and Latin verb clauses, he would be convinced that he wasn't even attending a magical school. Days were spent hard at work pursuing his education, while afternoons and evenings were spent playing quidditch at the school field (which was open after school hours until dark), sitting at home doing schoolwork or playing video games (often with Ron, and Harry, had even started inviting Benny), or simply spending time with Hermione.

However, his nightmares continued, and were steadily worsening. Some nights, he dreamt himself standing in a large anteroom, speaking in a smooth voice to a room full of men in black robes, preaching about the importance of blood purity and keeping muggles in check. Other nights, he did…terrible things, to muggles, to wizards, to his own followers.

"We can safely assume that you're dreaming you're Voldemort," Hermione said, typing away at Harry's computer while he and Ron paced in the background. "But are you just remembering things he did, or is this happening right now?"

"Dumbledore thinks it's happening right now," Harry said. "He thinks…he might be back."

There was a grim silence at that statement, and Ron voiced the question they were all thinking.

"How?"

"Dumbledore's looking into it, he says," Harry replied, and Hermione sighed.

"We'll look into it, too," she said determinedly. "Dumbledore may have good intentions, but…sometimes, I don't know if he really thinks his plans through."

"What d'you mean?" Ron asked, sounding confused. "He's Dumbledore. He always knows what to do."

"Sometimes it may seem that way," Hermione said, "but hiding the philosopher's stone behind a puzzle three first years could figure out? Hiring a professor who just _happened_ to have Voldemort sticking out of his head. And _I_ was the first one to figure out that a basilisk was attacking everyone last year? The man's missed a few steps in the past two years."

Ron fell silent, looking oddly thoughtful. Harry stepped up behind Hermione, looking over her shoulder at the computer. She smiled back at him, and he ran a hand down her cheek.

"Hey, you," she said softly, and Harry grinned.

"Hey, yourself," he said, leaning down and kissing her cheek. "Anything?"

"Well, I checked Magipedia, and the only magic that can cause one person to dream about the other's actions as consistently as you are is…a soul bond."

"The way you say that, it sounds bad."

She sighed and shook her head. "Harry, a soul bond is…not an easy process. The whole ritual takes about three hours, and I doubt Voldemort had that kind of time to spend with you."

Harry let a humorless laugh at that, peering at the screen. According to the article, soul bonds were old, old magic, dating back to before the Greek empire, even. It had fallen out of practice several hundred years ago due to the many complications of bonding one's soul to another.

"Soul bonds were nothing to fool around with, eh?"

Hermione nodded. "It was classified dark magic and only used by truly obsessive or overly-controlling lovers, and it never ended pretty."

"What would happen?" Ron asked.

"Most often, the bonded pair would go insane," Hermione said. "When you're soul-bonded to someone, you're always aware of their presence, no matter how far away they are; you're never truly alone. Eventually, it led to feelings of paranoia, resentment, and even outright hatred. Imagine always knowing where I was, Harry, feeling angry when I was, sad when I was, not knowing whose emotions you were really truly feeling. Sooner or later, all soul-bonded pairs would snap under the pressure."

"And then, what, kill each other?" Ron asked, and Hermione shook her head.

"If one of the pair dies, the other does, too," she said.

"That's insane," Harry said.

"Wait," Hermione said, scrolling down. "There's a list of related articles."

Glancing at the screen, Harry saw, _Pureblood Marriage Customs, Dementors, Horcruxes, Ghosts, _and_ Fidelius Charm_.

"Click on the horcux one," Harry said.

…

"Mail call, Fredward," George said, trotting into the apartment, sifting through the stack of letters retrieved from the postbox. "Another one from Lee, one for Gin-Gin, Percy from his lovely lady."

"Oh, any nudie pics?" Fred asked, standing and moving to his twin's side.

"Inconclusive," George said, handing the letter off to Fred. "You do the honors."

A low yowling met their ears, and they rounded as one to see Ron's mangy cat staring at them with wide yellow eyes full of distrust. The little monster always seemed to turn up when they were plotting any sort of mischief (even the fun kind!), though it rarely did more than stare at them with eyes full of judgment and other negative emotions.

"Oi," Fred said, moving to nudge the cat away with his foot. "Shoo, devil-cat."

"Oh, leave the cat," George said, tossing the stack of letters onto the table except for one. "We have fan mail."

"Oh?" Fred turned, curiosity piqued. "From whom?"

"Neville Longbottom," George muttered, ripping the letter open and scanning it. "It seems one of his friends is having trouble with bullies. Remember Luna?"

"Aw, she's a good kid," Fred said, peering over his twin's shoulder to read the letter. "Bullies like those 'claws give us honest pranksters a bad name."

"Too right," George agreed, pausing as he reached a certain line in the letter, a grin splitting his face.

_…wondering if you had any ideas on booby traps or trigger spells that would help convince them to leave her alone…_

"Well, well, looks like little Neville is growing up, Georgie boy," Fred said, having just reached the same line. "And he seems to have embraced our favorite adage."

"Don't get mad," George said.

"Get even," Fred finished.

…

"What's this game called?" Ginny asked through her laughter. Nearby, Heather lay on her bed, reading one of the twins' old Muggle Studies books from Hogwarts.

"Day of the Tentacle," she said. "Gin, this book is ridiculous. I mean, look at this guy! He's wearing pinstriped pants, hunting boots, and a leather jacket over a polo shirt!"

Ginny giggled and spun the chair at Heather's computer desk to face her new friend. "That's what wizards in England think muggles wear."

"I mean, they wear that stuff, but not all at once!" Heather laughed.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Well, what do muggles here wear?"

"The same thing the magicians do," Heather said with a shrug. "We use the same money, the same clothing, and most stores have magic and non-magic locations. Even Wal-Mart."

"Wal-Mart?" Ginny asked absently, clicking a few items on the screen. "How do I get this fat lump to move? I think I need that sweater he's on."

"You gotta look around for a bit," Heather said, standing. "Anyway, you wanna go do something? There's a mall a bus ride away from here. It's nothing impressive, but we could get you some real 'muggle' clothes," she even did the air quotes on the word "muggle".

"Oh," Ginny smiled, her heart sinking a bit. "Well, I can go along, but I don't reckon I'll be buying any clothes."

Heather smirked at this. "You don't _reckon_?" she even did a passable English accent, moving to Ginny and tugging her to her feet, taking her hand and pulling her from the room. "C'mon, my sexy English companion. Maybe I'll spot you some money so we can dress you like a proper American magician."

…

"Mail, Master Sirius," Dobby said, bowing and placing a stack of envelopes on the coffee table. Lounging on the couch, Sirius reached for them and sifted through a few. He tossed aside several ads and coupon books before reaching a thick envelope that was clearly from across the pond. Besides the usual international stamp, it was thick yellowed parchment and bore the official seal of Gringotts.

"What's this about, I wonder?" he muttered to himself, ripping open the envelope.

_Gringotts Bank_

_Diagon Alley_

_London, England_

_To Sirius Black, Patriarch of the Black Family,_

_This letter comes to you in regards to vault 942, former property of the Lestrange family. Due to your newly reinstated status as Lord Black following the Ministerial ruling clearing you of all charges placed against you on 2 November, 1981, you are now the rightful owner of the vault and all contained property. This decision was made in light of the knowledge of the Lestrange family's association with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and subsequent imprisonment._

_Please find enclosed a form acknowledging or refusing this transfer, check the appropriate box, and sign your name. The form will find its way back to us._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Torkold Tils_

_Account Manager_

_Jigorf Gott_

_Bank Manager_

Sirius felt a grin growing on his face, and he actually chuckled, surprising Dobby as the elf dusted.

"Master Black is amused?"

"Extremely," Sirius said, thinking of the look on Bella's face when she heard that every ounce of gold she had to her name belonged to him now, along with whatever dark contraband she had in her vault. "Dobby, can you write up a letter for me?"

"Dobby would be delighted, Master Sirius!" the elf said, hopping in place before cracking away to get a pen and paper.

Who knew what sorts of dark and dangerous crap Bella and that psycho of a husband kept in that vault. Best to simply have it disposed of.

He was just settling back into watching Cops (one of the most amusing show's he'd ever seen) when a door down the hall burst open and chalk-white Harry charged into the room, looking torn between terror and rage, followed by Hermione and Ron. Immediately, Sirius was on his feet and in front of his godson.

"What's happened?"

"Sirius. I-I think I'm a horcrux…."

…

He knew technically nothing had changed. He was just aware now what the true nature of his connection to Voldemort was. Even so, he felt…different now, like some sort of malevolent presence had settled in the back of his mind. Maybe the little chunk of Riddle's soul that had latched onto his was reacting to Harry's awareness of its presence, maybe having an evil little laugh at his distress.

The sudden mental image of a tiny Voldemort laughing like a chipmunk did amuse him for a brief moment.

"Seems like an odd time to crack a smile," Sirius said, causing Harry to jump. "Sorry, the door was cracked."

"No, it's okay," he said, sitting up on his bed. Glancing at his clock, he realized he'd been lying and staring at the ceiling for two hours. "Just…thinking."

"Don't worry," Sirius said, grinning. "There's a way around this, I'm sure. Hermione's all over that internet, and you're all going to the library after school tomorrow, right?"

"She seems to think that since it's a soul-based problem, soul-based healing will fix it," Harry said with a nod while Sirius moved into his room and sat in his "gaming chair", as Benny had dubbed it during his last visit.

"That makes sense," Sirius said. "I remember, back in the day, your mum mentioned that a lot of other magical cultures actually have 'soul healers', who sit you down and guide you through some sort of meditation."

"She was muggle-born, though," Harry said, glancing over at his godfather. Sirius smirked.

"Harry, before she was even finished with first year, she rivaled some of the pureblood Ravenclaws in sheer knowledge," he said. "That girl lived in the library."

"Sounds like Hermione," Harry chuckled, and Sirius nodded.

"James once said, 'Potters always attract the smart ones. It counteracts our inborn thick-headedness.' Given the past couple years at Hogwarts, I'm inclined to agree."

Harry rolled his eyes. "As if you have room to talk, _Padfoot_. Moony told me the Marauder's Map was _your_ idea."

"With lots of encouragement from your father," Sirius defended himself, smirking "He came up with the name."

Harry fell silent, staring up at the ceiling with a small sigh. "How would he have reacted to all this, Sirius? If my dad found out that the most evil dark lord in nearly a century had somehow stuck a bit of his soul inside his body?"

Sirius was quiet for a moment, a faraway look in his eyes as he gazed at Harry's wall, before he spoke. "He wouldn't have stood for it," he finally said. "James Potter was a lot of things, Harry. Arrogant, self-centered, but a good man. One thing he wasn't was anyone's soul vessel. He would look for the quickest way to get rid of the soul fragment short of jumping off the Astronomy Tower."

"But what if it comes to…me having to – "

"Don't even think like that, Harry," Sirius said sharply, his eyes hardening as he glared at his godson. "Don't you for a minute thing that I want to see my godson, the child of my best friends, off himself because he thinks it's for the greater good. If Voldemort resurrects himself, if he has already, even, we'll kill him. And if he comes back from that, we'll kill him again. As many times as it takes for him to realize that we don't bloody want him alive, we'll put that bastard back in the ground. And I forbid you from dying at any less than two-hundred years old. Consider that my first official act as your legal guardian. You are forbidden."

Harry felt a lump in his throat even as a warm feeling rose in his chest. "Forbidden, hm?"

"Absolutely," Sirius said, standing. "Now, dinner's in five, and Ron and Hermione are coming over, so get ready."

"Right. Thanks, Sirius."

…

"You needn't have gone through all this trouble, Neville."

"Luna, I'm your friend," Neville insisted as the two of them walked along the corridor leading to the Ravenclaw common room, followed closely by Terry Boot and his girlfriend, Sue Li, who was sympathetic to Luna's plight but had been unsuccessful in convincing her housemates to stop picking on the blonde. Sue was of Chinese descent, though she had no trace of the accent, being a third-generation Chinese-British. "Friends help each other when they're having problems. Don't you want your housemates to leave you alone?"

She blinked once, a distant look in her eyes (though Neville supposed they looked distant quite often) before giving a nonchalant shrug.

"It would be nice if my things would stop coming up missing," she said. "But I have a friend." She smiled at Neville. "They can't take that from me, at least. Not without some amount of trouble, I suppose."

Neville felt his face heat up. "Alright, Terry, did I give you the list of spells?"

"Yep," Terry said as Sue held the paper up. "Sue will go with Luna and help her ward her chest and her wardrobe."

"Thanks, mate," Neville said, passing him a rather sizable bag as well. "These are something Fred and George call Occulas. They're like something called a video camera?"

"I know what those are," Sue said with a wide smile, pointing to herself. "Muggle-born."

"Well, he thought you should stick them around the dorm to see if you could catch who was taking her things," Neville said. "He said they're charmed to look away during, um…private moments."

"That's handy," Sue said, taking the back from Terry. "Consider it done."

"Thanks again, you two," Neville said.

"Thank _you_," Sue said with a smile.

"For what?"

"For caring enough about Luna to do something about all this," Sue said. "I'm glad that she has you to look out for her."

Neville felt his blush deepen and shrugged. "Just helping out a friend."

They reached the corridor leading to the Ravenclaw common room, and Terry and Sue shared a look.

"We'll go on ahead," Sue said. "I'll scout out the dorm, make sure none of the other girls are watching."

"See you later, Nev," Terry said, and the pair made their way down the corridor, leaving Luna smiling up at Neville.

"Um," Neville said before Luna stepped closer, standing on her tiptoes and pressing her lips to his cheek. Stepping back, she smiled, and though there was certainly no visible change, Neville thought he saw something new in her expression.

Mischief.

"Good night, Neville Longbottom," she said, her voice a breezy whisper as she turned and skipped off, her long blond hair flouncing in her wake.

Long after she had gone, Neville was still standing in the corridor, a hand going up to brush his cheek.

"Goodnight, Luna Lovegood…."

* * *

I went through so many different endings with this chapter, including an awkward relationship talk and/or an actual kiss. But Luna kept drifting out of character during these little talks, and it all seemed to be moving a bit too fast. So, Luna decides to thank Neville with a little kiss on the cheek.

Reviews are always appreciated.


	14. Chapter 14

Well, this one hit a wall halfway through, but I managed to climb over and/or blow up the wall, so all is well. I've made up for it by making it another longish chapter. I'm shooting for around 8k per chapter, since the old 4k quota wasn't near enough words.

This chapter features _SYMBOLISM!_ Isn't it great?

* * *

_7. List two charms useful in conjunction when dealing with a possibly hostile creature/animal._

Harry pondered, staring down at the test paper. Mister Dawson had said that each question had multiple possible right answers, as long as they accomplished the goal. He wrote:

_A calming charm and cheering charm would be useful in calming a hostile foe.  
_

Calm down the hostile intent and put him in a good mood.

They had recently begun a unit focusing on the responsible use of charms on other living creatures. Of course, there were very few cases in which the law allowed such actions, but Mr. Dawson insisted they know and even spent a whole period discussing the "Vigilante Clauses", as they were called. Ron was particularly excited to find out that there were even wizard bounty hunters.

"I know what I wanna be when I grow up," he'd said.

_8. Which state has the most lenience in regards to vigilante actions against known/wanted criminals? Cite one example of an action that would be illegal in other states._

He glanced at the textbook next to him, flipping a few pages. Next to him, Hermione had already finished her take-home test from Dawson and was now scribbling away at an essay for Political Science. After a few failed attempts at pacing herself so that she could help Harry with his assignments while working on the same ones, Harry had finally decided that they should simply work at their own paces and he would ask for her help if a particularly tough question came along.

"I know you're smarter than me," he'd said, overriding her protests, "and it would be criminal to hold you back just because I suck at theoretical stuff."

He finally arrived on the page he needed and went back to his test.

_Utah is currently the most lenient state with vigilant actions._ Dawson insisted that all answers be in complete sentences. _It is legal to use the Cruciatus Curse on someone convicted of a capital offense._

"How you coming along?" Hermione asked, looking up from her essay, blowing a tendril of hair from her eyes with a puff of air. The action was so ridiculous that Harry found himself laughing at her antics. Blinking, she pouted and stuck her tongue out at him. "Yes, yes, my hair is atrocious."

"You should get it cut," Harry said, reaching out and tugging at a lock gently. "I bet it'd look great short, maybe to your shoulders. And there are plenty of cosmetic potions to take some of the bushiness out.

"You don't like it?" Hermione asked, her eyes widening as she pulled at her hair. Harry smiled.

"I didn't say that," he said. "It's just that _you_ don't seem to like your hair all that much. I see you fighting with it all the time."

"Maybe I ought to cut it," she said ponderously, pulling a lock in front of her eyes and staring at it cross-eyed. "But I'm afraid I'll look silly with short hair."

"Hermione Granger is _never_ silly," Harry said solemnly. "Maybe you get a bit goofy during the summer, but never, _ever_ silly."

Hermione bopped him playfully on the shoulder. "You're such a prat," she said, standing. "I'm thirsty. Pepsi?"

"Sure."

She strolled off to the kitchen, and Harry went back to his test. He'd no sooner glanced at the number nine when a knock sounded on the door.

"Dobby, could you get that?" he called, standing. Sirius was out at Mr. Mason's with Hagrid, so Harry had free reign of the house. When asked how he could trust his godson alone with a girl, the Marauder had only barked a laugh and replied, "That girl's more responsible than _I_ am. I'm surprised she leaves _us_ alone."

He had a point.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir!" Dobby's screechy voice called from the entryway, sounding frantic with delight. "Dobby is honored to see you again, sir! Master Harry Potter, sir!" he called as Harry stepped into the entryway. "Professor Dumbledore is here to see you!"

"I can see that, Dobby," Harry said with a faint smile, staring up at Dumbledore. "Hello, sir."

"Good afternoon, Harry," Dumbledore said with a twinkling smile. "I wonder if I might have a word with you about this disturbing revelation you've recently had?"

"About the horcrux, sir?"

"Yes, dear boy," Dumbledore said, nodding gravely. "Might I come in?"

"Oh, yes, please," Harry said, motioning toward the dining room. "Um, something to drink?"

"Oh, I couldn't – " Before he'd even finished, Dobby cracked into their midst with a tray of tea, balancing it as he followed them into the dining area, where Hermione stood with two cans of Pepsi, looking dumbstruck at the headmaster's presence. "But it seems it's no imposition on such a fine elf."

Dobby blushed right to his ears as he served the headmaster a cup of tea. "Dobby is honored to serve the esteemed Albus Dumbledore! Dobby is being a big fan of Dumbledore's!"

"You do me much honor, Dobby," Albus said, sipping the tea and nodding a greeting at Hermione. "Good afternoon, Miss Granger."

"Dobby, could we have a moment?" Harry asked, and Dobby bowed, disappearing with a crack. "What did you want to talk about, Professor?"

Dumbledore set his teacup down and sighed. "I merely wished to know how you're feeling, Harry. I know that this news is likely quite distressing."

"Very," Harry said, staring blankly at his open textbook, the words and sentences a jumble of meaningless letters. "Did…. Did you know?" he looked back up at the headmaster, who closed his eyes and gave a sad shake of his head.

"I suspected for some time that Tom Riddle would have gone to great lengths to attain some measure of immortality," he said. "I even began to suspect that he would have employed horcruxes. Until the incident with his diary last year, though, I could not be sure, and I could never have made the connection with your scar."

"The diary?" Harry asked. "That's a horcrux as well?"

"I suspect he has made multiple horcruxes," Dumbledore said, nodding once. "The diary was one, although you destroyed it with the basilisk fang."

"But to make multiple horcruxes…" Hermione's voice made Harry jump; he'd almost forgotten she was here. "To rip your soul into that many pieces…."

"Tom Riddle cared only about power and immortality," Dumbledore said. "The condition of his soul was likely of little concern to him. This, I believe, is what led to your…condition, Harry. By the time Tom confronted your parents, his soul was so shattered, so unstable, that when the killing curse intended for you rebounded back, it broke another piece of him off, and that bit of his soul latched onto the only other living thing in the room."

"And now a little piece of Voldemort lives in my head," Harry said, and Dumbledore nodded.

"Harry, I want you to know that I'm consulting every source at my disposal, and that is a considerable many," he added with a small smile. "I will do all I can to find a way to eliminate the horcrux inside of you without harming you."

"Thank you, Professor."

"We're looking, too, Professor," Hermione said, "and we're going try a form of meditation I looked up that allows a magician to communicate with his soul. Maybe Harry can communicate with the portion of Voldemort's soul that's connected to his and…eject it somehow."

Dumbledore looked thoughtful for a moment, giving a slow shake of the head. "I'm not sure if that would be advisable, Harry. At the moment, the horcrux in you is in a dormant state. Provoking it may have unforeseen consequences."

"I have to try, Professor. Knowing this…thing is in my head…. It's awful. I want it gone, even if I have to fight it and make it leave. It's just a piece of his soul against my entire one. _And_ I've got the home field advantage." He smirked, and Dumbledore reluctantly smiled back.

"I have faith in you, Harry," he said, standing. "I must be off, however. I merely wished to make sure that you were alright in the face of this news and offer my full support. You aren't alone, Harry."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said, standing as well. "But…you traveled all the way here, just to tell me this?"

Dumbledore smiled, a genuine smile this time, and patted Harry's shoulder. "I hold you in great esteem, Harry. A letter just seemed…insufficient."

With that, he made for the door, Dobby showing him out with wishes of another visit very soon. Harry sat, looking down at the forgotten homework. Dumbledore's visit had left a ringing silence and a keen awareness of their situation.

"Maybe we should finish this quick and figure out this whole meditation thing?" Harry proposed, and Hermione nodded.

"That seems like a good idea."

…

There were, Harry found out from Hermione, dozens of different methods of communing with one's soul, devised by quite a few different cultures, subcultures, and even a few cults.

"Oh, but don't worry," she insisted. "We're staying away from the cult ones. Most of them involve drinking blood first, and that's just icky."

"Too right," Ron muttered, lounging in Harry's gaming chair and playing some Japanese game system special-ordered by Harry (he'd gotten to pull out his Lord title for the first time, calling in a favor some Japanese family had apparently owed the Potters for near a thousand years) with the assistance of a transliteration spell that rendered the indecipherable Japanese text into perfectly translated English. "So, we're all doing this? I've not got some bit of You-Know-Who in _me_, so…."

"Ronald Bilius Weasley," Hermione said, sounding alarmingly like Mrs. Weasley. "Maybe you should be a little more sensitive to Harry's situation."

"No, it's alright, Hermione," Harry insisted, smiling wanly. "Joking about it takes the edge off. Besides, if this goes right, the bit of Voldemort will be gone in a few hours, right?"

"We can only hope," Hermione said, pointedly ignoring Ron's wince at the name. "Of all the meditation spells I've looked up, this one seems the most promising. Since magic is primarily tied to the soul, this spell will actually convert the magic into a second brain and dump your consciousness into it, basically allowing you to experience your soul like a physical place. It's tricky, but I think if it works right, Harry will be able to find the part of his soul that Voldemort is latched onto and get rid of it."

"What kind of culture came up with this?" Harry asked.

"An obscure monastery in Asia," Hermione said. "The original name's difficult to pronounce, but it translates to 'The Children of the Arcane Sun'."

"Neato," Ron deadpanned. "And we're doing this because…?"

"Because, it can be a very insightful process," Hermione said, frowning at the redhead. "I for one really want know what my soul looks like. I bet it's just a great big – "

"Library," Ron and Harry spoke in unison.

Hermione was silent, glancing between them for a few seconds.

"You two are insufferable."

She sat next to Harry on the floor, drawing out her wand and folding it between her fingers, lacing her hands together and resting them in her lap.

"Now, we just say the incantation…."

They all three spoke the incantation Hermione had provided them, and the world before Harry exploded in a kaleidoscope of colors.

…

"You alright, Nev?" Seamus asked as he sat down at the Gryffindor table, pulling a plate of sausages toward him. "You look beat."

Neville offered him a small smile. "Nothing wrong, just stayed up half the night on this History of Magic essay. I still don't miss Binns, but he was never strict with grading."

"You got that right," Dean said, sitting on Seamus's other side. "I remember last year, on a dare, I actually ripped four pages out of my History book and submitted them as an essay. Binns gave it an A."

"It's funny how the actual textbook is only 'Acceptable' to him," Seamus chuckled, grinning as Luna drifted over and sat on Neville's other side. "Morning, Luna."

"Good morning," the blonde girl said with a breezy smile.

"Sleep well?" Neville asked as Seamus and Dean fell into conversation about their last Defense class (a very popular one among all years, due to the fact that the professor was the actually competent Remus Lupin).

"Exceedingly," Luna said. "Although, I was awoken around two in the morning. Fred and George Weasley are quite good at defensive wards, though they can be frightfully loud."

"Did someone try to break into your trunk?" Neville asked, frowning.

"Yes, although they were very unsuccessful," Luna said, turning and gesturing toward the Ravenclaw table, where a cluster of about four girls was sporting matching lime green mullets, glaring daggers at the girl.

"Have they tried to get back at you?" Neville asked, unable to stop a giant grin at the sight. Luna shook her head.

"I've gathered that they're too afraid of you," she said, her dreamy smile brightening slightly. "Apparently, word has gotten around that you're in contact with the Weasley twins, and they're terrified that you'll resort to something more drastic if they retaliate."

"Well, good," Neville said, feeling a sense of fierce satisfaction. "I'm glad they're leaving you alone, Luna."

They settled into a comfortable silence, Luna pilling oatmeal on two fried eggs and adding sausage gravy. Already well-accustomed to her eating habits, the three boys made no comment, tucking in to their more orthodox meals.

"So, first Hogsmeade visit today," Dean said, grinning at the other three. "Excited?"

"Of course," Seamus said. "We have to go to Honeydukes first."

"Yeah, right!" Dean said. "Porting's Art Studio. They have moving portrait paint! I can't wait to give it a try!"

"Will you be alright on your own, Luna?" Neville asked, and the girl smiled breezily at him.

"Oh, you needn't worry," she said. "I expect I'll be spending the day in the library. Unless I go somewhere else. Who's to tell?"

Giving her a wry smile, Neville took a bite of his breakfast as the morning post streamed into the Great Hall. Long accustomed to only receiving a biweekly letter from his gran, Neville didn't even bother to look up. He was thus quite surprised when a nondescript brown owl dropped a letter on his near empty plate.

"Expecting post?" Dean asked, and Neville shook his head, reaching for the envelope and slitting it open with a tap of his wand. Inside was quite a short message written in curly lettering.

_You're making a lot of noise standing up for Lovegood. I think we can work together on a similar project._

_Meet me at the Hog's Head at 2pm today._

_You can bring your two cronies only if they can keep a secret._

_Don't be late._

There was no signature, nothing to indicate where the letter had come from. The parchment was no different from any that a student could get in stacks from their Head of House. No doubt there was some sort of tracing spell that could pinpoint a sender, but Neville didn't know it, and he really didn't trust his fledgling magical abilities not to botch one and set the letter aflame even if he tried.

"Who's he calling a 'cronie'?" Seamus asked indignantly, peering at the letter. Neville rolled his eyes at him. "Well, you going?"

"I dunno, mate," Dean piped in. "The Hog's Head's a dodgy place. If it was the Three Broomsticks…."

"What if it's a trap or something?" Seamus added. "After what happened with those 'Claw girls, they're probably itching to get you."

Staring at the letter, Neville pondered. If it was indeed a trap, it probably was the Ravenclaws that he'd pranked on Luna's behalf. But even if they tried something at the Hog's Head, the proprietor was unlikely to let students fight in his bar, even with the place's reputation. Shady deals and unsavory customers, yes, but an all-out brawl? Unlikely.

And if it was genuine, someone wanted his help in another situation like Luna's. He couldn't help one victim and just let another suffer. It wasn't fair.

"I'm going."

…

Since the visit to Hogsmeade began at noon, the trio had a couple of hours to devote to shopping around the bustling village street. Seamus had to be dragged from Honeydukes after nearly buying half the store, while Dean filled the pockets of his greatcoat with all manner of paints, brushes, expanding canvases, and even a camera.

"I want to broaden my horizons," he explained, already snapping a few pictures with the camera. "Plus, if I really like a shot, I can do a painting of it."

They stopped by the Three Broomsticks (Hogsmeade's premier tavern and inn), where Seamus's tongue nearly hit the floor after he caught sight of the busty barmaid, Madame Rosmerta, who was probably in her late twenties and had a gypsy-like beauty to her, Neville had to admit. As she winked toward the trio and gave them a coquettish little smile, Neville came to the conclusion that flirting likely came to her as naturally as breathing.

Poor Seamus.

"So, you think the guy who wrote that letter is in here, maybe?" Dean asked as they drank their butterbeers. Neville felt a warmth grow from the pit of his stomach as he took a long draw of the warm amber liquid, and suddenly the prospect of meeting a stranger in a dodgy bar in half an hour didn't seem quite as dreadful as before.

"Huh?" Seamus asked, watching Rosmerta pour a couple more flagons for a couple of goblins at the counter.

"I don't think so," Neville said, his eyes roaming over the crowd. Certainly, there were plenty of Hogwarts students from nearly every house, including a couple of Ravenclaws who had trimmed their hair up to pixie-like dos, though the lime green tint had only started to fade.

Fred and George did good work.

Ignoring the hateful stares and menacing grins from the two 'Claws, Neville went back to his drink.

"Wonder what Luna's up to," he pondered out loud.

"Huh?"

"You really like her, eh?" Dean grinned, taking a drink from his own mug.

"She's a good friend," Neville said defensively.

"Huh?"

"No need to get all bent up," Dean said in a placating tone. "Look, I'm not trying to take the mickey out of you, and I'm not trying to warn you off her, either. She's a good sort, and you two really get along."

"Yeah, but – "

"All I'm saying," Dean overrode him.

"Huh?"

"I'm saying, don't let what other people try to say influence where you go with her," Dean continued. "They might tease you and rib you or even outright make fun of you. But if you like her, go out with her, and dash what they say. I'm sure she doesn't give two shits, anyway."

"I know," Neville said, feeling his face heat up. "And…maybe I will ask her out someday. But I'm only thirteen, and she's only twelve. I don't see why we should rush anything."

"Huh?"

"Alright," Dean said, sounding satisfied. "But really, you two are perfectly suited for each other."

"Oh, shut it."

"Huh?"

…

The Hog's Head was nothing like the Three Broomsticks. While Rosmerta's establishment was warm, clean, and bustling, the Hog's Head (run by a long-bearded man as grungy as the actual place) was cold, gray, and quiet, all conversation conducted in hushed tones and mutterings. Neville led the way in, his hand in his pocket, gripping his wand in case things went south.

"Where is he?" Seamus whispered in his ear, and he glanced around for someone around their age, his eyes falling on a pair at a corner table.

"I think you should be asking 'Where is _she_?'," he muttered, nodding toward the pair of girls that he vaguely recognized from his own Sorting two years ago. If he recalled correctly, they'd both gone to Slytherin.

"Blimey," Seamus breathed as they approached. "Neville, since you're with Luna, I call dibs on the blonde."

"You wish," the blonde in question said with a smirk, her voice cool and quiet. She gestured at the empty chairs around the table. "Well, have a seat. Please."

The glanced at each other warily, and Blonde rolled her eyes. "We're outnumbered three to two, and I don't think Beardy over there would just let a couple of students leave after attacking someone, if only for liability issues. Sit. Please."

They complied, Neville sitting between the other two, across from the Blonde. Her name finally came back to him in a flash of realization.

"Daphne Greengrass," he said, and she smiled at him, cool but not mocking.

"That's me," she said, then gestured at her friend, a shorter girl with curly dark hair and a face full of freckles. She didn't have the same regal beauty as Daphne, though she was cute in her own way. "This is Tracey Davis."

"Seamus Finnegan."

"Dean Thomas."

"Neville Longbottom."

Daphne let a quiet little snort. "Now that we all know each other," she said, "let's chat."

"You…can't be getting bullied," Neville said, shaking his head. "You just don't seem the type."

"Aw, thank you," Daphne said, seeming to find that a genuine compliment. "No, I'm not actually getting personally bullied. All of Slytherin is, along with a lot of kids from other Houses."

"By who?"

"Malfoy," Daphne spat the name. "The little ponce has been on a constant temper tantrum since Potter left. Now that he doesn't have the Boy Wonder to flirt with, he's been taking out his aggression on pretty much anyone that gives him a reason. It's like having a bridge troll living with you."

"No one in our house wants to stand up to him because it would just cause us all grief," Tracey said. She had a pleasantly husky voice, Neville noted. "And no one from other houses will bother helping us, since they just have to put up with him in classes. And we're Slytherins."

"So we're eeeeevil," Daphne held up her hands and waggled her fingers threateningly at the three before letting a sardonic giggle. "But, when I heard about you helping out that Lovegood girl even though she wasn't a member of your House, I started to keep an eye on you. When I saw those three bimbos with their new hairstyles, I knew you were the one to help us. That was nice work."

"Well, the spell wasn't really mine, it was the Weasley twins'," Neville admitted. "They did all the work."

"You used a resource at your disposal to take care of a problem," Daphne said. "That's taking initiative, using your cunning, and solving a problem effectively. If you didn't have such a noble streak, you'd make a decent Slytherin."

"Um…thanks," Neville said. "But…taking care of some bullying girls is one thing. This is Draco Malfoy."

"Oh, please," Daphne said. "Don't lose your steam now. For Merlin's sake, you gave the kid a bloody nose back in first year! When word got out it was you that did it, _no one _let him hear the end of it. You were my hero for a little while!"

"You really don't like Malfoy, do you?" Seamus asked. Daphne rolled her eyes.

"He's an arrogant little ponce whose favorite words are 'my father'. The only reason anyone goes along with what he does is because the only kid that ever tried to stand up to him wound up in the Hospital Wing after Crabbe and Goyle were through with him."

"Damn," Seamus muttered.

"Yeah," Daphne nodded. "But, Neville here is subtler than that. An out-and-out fight wouldn't go well. But a warning prank, with me as your inside girl…."

"Prank Crabbe and Goyle?"

"We get them first, send them a message," Daphne said. "If they keep backing up that git, they're in for worse. If we can scare them off, maybe Malfoy'll calm down. If not, we'll have to up the ante."

"What are we doing to them?" Neville asked. Daphne shrugged.

"Those two are _your_ supplier, not mine," she said. "Ask them. Please."

Well, at least she was _trying_ to be polite. Neville did remember a homemade pamphlet of sorts detailing a few other projects the two were working on. Maybe he could piece together a plan.

"Alright. I'll see what I can do."

…

"So, any ideas?" Seamus asked as they strolled back toward the castle.

"None at all," Neville admitted. "I'm rubbish at this sort of thing. We need Hermione or maybe even Ron."

"Well, what do Crabbe and Goyle hate?" Dean asked. Neville shrugged.

"All I know is they love food," he said. "Other than that, I don't think even Malfoy knows them that well."

"Shame," Dean said, frowning. "I know just about everything about Seamus, right mate?" He moved and tugged Seamus into a one-armed hug, the shorter boy squirming away from his grip.

"Geroff me, you weirdo!" he said, though his smirk took most of the edge of the statement. "People are gonna start to think we fancy each other."

Neville stopped dead in his tracks at that, something forming in the back of his head. The other two noticed and paused as well.

"Something wrong, mate?" Dean asked. Neville only shook his head.

"No," he said, "everything's going to be fine."

…

Hermione was almost disappointed to realize that her soul actually _was_ a library.

It was one thing to have the boys (correctly) interpret her statement, but to have it actually _be_ a library? That was just annoying.

Nonetheless, as she strolled across the gray flagstone floor, staring at shelves that towered twenty feet over her head, she couldn't help but feel a certain sense of rightness about this place. If her soul was to be equated to a place, a library was very appropriate.

The place was huge, probably the size of an American football field, and it was completely empty. Along each wall, ceiling-high windows let in a stark white light that bleached the colorful spines of the books stacked impeccably on the worn wooden shelves. Interspersed along the shelves were tables and chairs for reading or taking down notes. The only sound was the faint rustle of wind, though there was no apparent breeze.

It was efficient, well-lit, and quiet.

It was perfect.

Making her way along the shelves, Hermione's footsteps seemed to echo strangely, the echo actually starting _before_ her feet touched the ground and continuing for longer than she thought plausible. Still, this was her soul, so physics probably didn't account for much of anything.

She stopped at a shelf at random and picked a book from the shelf, opening it and studying it. The words looked like English, but for some reason, they were indecipherable. It was like reading a book in a dream (which she had done, actually); as soon as the words started to form coherent words, they changed.

Well, again, it was her soul. It couldn't store earthly knowledge, just spiritual changes.

She put the book back and moved on down the shelves, wondering when this whole exercise might actually bear some fruit. She wasn't feeling impatient just yet, though; it was fascinating to actually explore a sensory representation of the very core of her being.

She came upon a section of shelves that looked different from the rest. The wood was much newer, deep and rich in color, not sun-bleached like the ones she'd just passed. They were also empty, as though waiting to be stacked with more books. As she watched, actually, a few more books seemed to fade into existence on the shelf, though a cursory check showed them to be full of the same gobbledygook as before.

Finally, she reached a wall, finding it the same gray flagstone as the floor. Strangely, though, the windows were, upon closer inspection, barred from top to bottom, the gaps big enough for Hermione to slip an arm through but little else. On the other side, she saw a green field lit with warm afternoon sun and ringed by a sparse forest that stretched out of sight. Oddly, scattered amongst the trees were yet more bookshelves.

She tried to tug the bars aside, though unsurprisingly, they wouldn't budge. The next window was much the same, and the next. Five more windows passed, each one barred solidly against exit or entrance, and just as she was beginning to feel frantic, like the other library was firmly out of reach, she discovered a window with its bars blasted inward as though by some explosion. Even the surrounding wall bore a spider web of cracks.

She climbed through the window, and the almost oppressive silence was immediately replaced by the chirping of crickets, the distant calls of birds, and the intermittent buzzing cicadas. She immediately made for the trees and their mysterious bookshelves. Out here, the shelves were nothing close to uniform, comprised of every type of wood Hermione could imagine and every shape under the sun. Some shelves were only large enough for ten or twelve books, while others were the size of buildings, holding more books than she could read in several years. The books themselves were a ragtag bunch, as well, stacked haphazardly on top of each other. One slab of a tome was the size of tombstone and nearly as heavy as well. Another could have fit in her pocket, the words so small that she couldn't have read them even if they were legible.

One book was made of water that flowed between her fingers when she tried to pick it up.

Out here the books were badly organized, the light was sketchy at best, and there was a constant din of noise in the background.

But it was gorgeous.

Walking between the trees, smiling as the occasional winged book flew by, she eventually became aware of the sound of rushing water in the distance. Picking up her pace, she finally reached a cliff that dropped straight down into crystal blue water that shimmered, stirred slightly by a nearby waterfall.

As she watched, a nondescript shimmering figure appeared, floating in the air before her, one arm outstretched.

"W-what?" she asked, her voice a muted echo, barely audible to her own ears. "Who are you?"

The figure said nothing, and even if it did, Hermione was sure that she wouldn't be able to understand a word. Instead, it only floated there, giving its hand a little beckoning shake. She wasn't sure how she knew, but she almost felt a sort of desperation from it.

"O-okay, then," she said, reaching out and taking its hand. It gripped tightly and tugged her forward, as soon as her feet left the cliff, she felt herself plummet toward the water, but the figure wrapped its arms around her, and she couldn't feel scared, only comforted that she wasn't falling alone….

…

"Mental, all of this," Ron muttered, though he couldn't even hear his own grumblings. This place was weird.

And it was supposedly his soul, so he must have had a weird soul.

The ground was packed red sand, a light breeze kicking up clouds of dust that left a pinkish film on everything around him. "Everything", in this case, consisted of pretty much columns and pavilions right out of Greece or Rome or France or something, along with enough statues to fill a really big museum.

"Bloody hell…."

Stretching out of sight were dozens upon dozens of enormous statues depicting various men and women in stereotypical heroic poses: hands on hips, arms folded impressively across the chest, and one with a hand curled under his chin, looking impressively thoughtful. Around the large statues were throngs of smaller carvings, these of what could only be admirers, arms lifted over their heads or reaching toward the larger sculptures.

Wandering among the effigies, Ron saw no end in sight. Everywhere he looked, crowds of stone people were forever lavishing praise and adoration on the massive figures.

A thunderous roar in the distance made him turn his head, stopping in his tracks.

"What the…?"

A massive cloud of red dust billowed up into the sky, the cause very clear; one of the statues had just been reduced to a pile of rubble by a glowing red…thing. Made of pure red light, the beast was vaguely human-shaped and not quite as tall as the statues, which seemed to bother it quite a bit. Even as Ron watched, it lumbered toward another of the larger sculptures, crushing a few of the smaller ones as it moved. It raised a hand, and another thunderous roar filled the air as the limb hung in the air before descending in a cataclysmic crash, sending another statue tumbling.

"Oi!" Ron yelled, aware that maybe yelling at the beast wasn't the best idea. But still, someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make these things, and it wasn't right for this thing to be tearing them down. "Hey, cut that out!"

The beast either couldn't hear him or didn't care, as it lumbered toward its next target without so much as a glance toward Ron, who grew irritated as it tore down another monument.

"Stop it!"

The beast lumbered toward him, and the last thing Ron was aware of was a giant red foot descending toward him before his world went dark.

…

The kaleidoscope faded, revealing one of the oddest landscapes Harry had ever seen. Black sand shifted beneath his feet as he padded through a forest of bare trees bleached bone-white. The sky was a solid pearly white, though the occasional shaft of sunlight peeked through. There was a slight breeze, carrying the smell of salt air, but it was slightly chilly, like the morning after a storm, before the clouds had fully cleared out.

"Hermione?" he called, his voice reverberating oddly in the still silence. "Ron?"

Well, if this was _his_ soul, they weren't likely to be anywhere.

He made his way through the trees, aware of the occasional soft crashing sound in the distance, which he recognized immediately as waves crashing against a beach. Picking up the pace, he reached some sort of seaside shanty that had clearly seen better days; the wood was a colorless gray, and a carpet of black sand had shifted in from the constant breeze ruffling through the trees. Once, the place might even have been cozy.

On the opposite side of the shack, dark blue waves lapped at a derelict beach that curved out of sight. An island? Perhaps. He set off along the beach, wishing that his soul could be a little more straightforward with him and just tell him where the little chunk of Tom Riddle was hiding.

The beach revealed that it was in fact an island, though there were no redeeming features, and there didn't seem to be any land in sight, just featureless black ocean broken occasionally by a wave.

Was his soul really such a bleak place?

As if in response to his question, he spotted something that stuck out like a beacon amongst the black and gray.

A white lily.

He knelt to examine the plant, which seemed to flourish under his touch, before he spotted another nearby. He hurried over to it, and that was when he saw the light in the corner of his eye.

Turning, he was almost blinded by a bright white beacon that faded to reveal a woman made of pure light, a long plait of gleaming hair down her back and a shimmering sundress fluttering around her ankles. Harry didn't know how he could tell, but she seemed to smile at him before crouching and tapping the sand at his feet. Abruptly, another white lily sprouted, blooming before his eyes. She stood and gave him a little wave before trotting off between the trees, which budded as she passed. Harry hastened to follow, carefully avoiding stepping on the flower.

"Who are you?" he asked, but she remained silent, just tossing another invisible smile over her shoulder. She led him back to the beach house, stepping inside and dusting away a bit of sand to reveal a trapdoor. Though there were no visible cues, the hatch seemed to radiate pure malice. He took an involuntary step back.

No. He couldn't go down there.

An impossibly close light flared in his eyes, and he felt a warm touch on his cheek as the woman gently caressed his face, pulling him into an embrace.

Yes. He would go down there and annihilate whatever he found.

The woman seemed to sense his bolstered courage, pulling away and giving him one last little smile before trotting out of the shanty and down the beach, stepping into the water. Strangely, every step she took, a small rock seemed to sprout from the water, providing a path of sorts to wherever she was going.

Watching her fade into the distance, Harry turned his attention back to the trapdoor, steeling his resolve. The white lady obviously believed in him, and he couldn't fail her. She was important, somehow.

He knelt and gripped the handle of the hatch, tugging it open.

With a howling roar, black tendrils floated up and engulfed him, turning his vision dark, and he was falling.

He landed hard, and he was sure that had he met such an abrupt landing in real life, he would be a stain on whatever surface he ended on. As it was, he felt nothing more than a mild discomfort as he stood and surveyed his surroundings, which weren't much more than a featureless black pit lit by a giant green brazier in the center. A small bundle of rags sat nearby, and as Harry watch, it shifted, revealing what looked like the most grotesque toddler ever seen. Mottled red skin, a flat nose, and slits for eyes that gleamed in the dim light made the small figure look like something out of a horror movie.

"Harry…Potter," the creature said laboriously. "I suppose you're…the reason behind all…this…."

"Tom Riddle," Harry concluded.

"My name…is Lord…Voldemort."

"You _call_ yourself Lord Voldemort," Harry said, stepping forward. "But you were born Tom Marvolo Riddle, weren't you?"

"Silence!" Riddle shouted, though that seemed to take a bit of energy, as he stopped to catch his breath. "I will not…be belittled…by a mere _child_."

"You're little enough already," Harry smirked. "You don't need _my_ help."

"I said…_silence_!" Riddle said, pointing a stubby finger at Harry.

"You're pathetic," Harry said. "Look at this," he gestured around at the room. "Do you know what this is? It's your _soul_. Or at least a piece of it."

"You know…ab – "

"Yes, I know about your horcruxes," Harry said. "Modern technology is a wondrous thing. Did you know, that Halloween, when you tried to kill me, you accidentally turned me into a half-cocked horcrux? This room? This is the piece of you that's stuck to my soul. And I want it gone."

"You…."

He glared at Harry, but he'd had enough of the constant fear, the nagging doubt in the back of his head, the doomed feeling that always seemed to follow him around thanks to the pall cast by Riddle. He strode toward the little creature, which scrabbled feebly to get away, but Harry gripped Riddle by the shoulders and lifted the little monster. The thing's thin lips parted in a wail of agony.

"I've had enough of you!" Harry shouted at it. "I want you gone! I'm destroying you today, and whatever little bits of your soul are floating around the world are _next_. You should've died long ago, _Tom_, and I'm not talking about Halloween twelve years go!"

The screeching rose in volume as spider webs of white light crisscrossed Riddle's body, growing until he was a ball of light, which burst upward, crashing through the roof of the cavern and revealing the blasted-out ruins of the shanty. Around him, the black pit faded to reveal a simple wine cellar, which Harry climbed from.

Around him, the skeletal black trees were all dotted with buds, and clusters of white lilies bloomed throughout the trees. Up in the sky, two clouds parted just right, and the island was bathed in warm sunlight.

It wasn't pretty, but it was a start.

…

Neville felt truly satisfied in the knowledge that an owl was winging its way toward America bearing the solution to the "Malfoy Problem", as Dean had put it, even as he was digging into some eggs.

The feeling didn't last, though, as he looked up to see Luna making her way toward his table without the usual skip in her step, though she was still smiling brightly at him as she sat. For some reason, this seemed to amuse a couple of Ravenclaws that Neville recognized from Hogsmeade, as they burst out laughing when they saw her.

"Something wrong, Luna?" Neville asked as she sat, beginning another of her odd breakfast concoctions. "You're usually a lot…well, bouncier."

Luna smiled up at him. "Well, it seems that all of my panties have come up missing – "

Neville choked on his milk, and on his other side, Dean dropped his fork with a clatter while Seamus glanced up so fast that Neville feared he might get whiplash. Surrounding students noticed their reactions but paid the quartet no more mind.

" – so I didn't want to cause a scene in case my skipping got a little too spirited," Luna finished, oblivious to the impact her words had made on the three boys. "Mummy always said modesty is a girl's last virtue."

"Your…. They've stolen your…?"

"My panties, yes," Luna said, and Neville valiantly fought to keep his eyes on hers. "It seems that the thieves waited until they were all in the laundry and nicked them before the elves came to collect it."

"But…." He shook his head. They hadn't thought about clothes that weren't being kept in her trunk. The laundry hamper was fair game, a fact that the bullies had exploited. "This has gone too far."

"What are you gonna do, Nev?" Seamus asked. "I mean, you could corner them and make them stop, but…a boy intimidating a bunch of girls…I think they wouldn't believe you'd go through with it."

"I wouldn't," Neville grumbled, glancing over at the Slytherin table, where Daphne Greengrass caught his eye and gave him a small wink. "But I know who will."

* * *

Panty raids: not just for cliché eighties high-school losers.

Okay, so I would actually like some comments on the whole soul journeys thing. Was the symbolism too overt, too subtle, just right, not even obvious at all?

Input would be nice.

Thanks for reading!


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